


Namaste

by Hannibalsimago, purplesocrates



Category: Efter brylluppet | After the Wedding (2006), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Polar (2019)
Genre: Abduction of child, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Child drugged but unharmed, Do not copy/repost this story to another site, EatTheRudeBigBang, Hannibal Extended Universe, He's an assassin after all, Implied pedophilia, M/M, Major violence/gore, PolarWedding, Size Difference, lots of secondary character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/pseuds/Hannibalsimago, https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/pseuds/purplesocrates
Summary: Jacob Pederson works in an orphanage in one of the worst slums in Mumbai. To his surprise, the orphanage is chosen as a finalist in a worldwide search from a CEO seeking to fund a charity. However, the CEO has one unusual request: for the finalists to attend a lavish wedding in Denmark.At the wedding, Jacob's swept off his feet by a handsome moustachioed stranger who seems more intent on the wedding guests than his impromptu dance partner. Afterward, the handsome stranger melts away into the darkness, leaving his intrigued companion behind.Can this story have a happy ending or will the ghosts from Duncan’s past ensure the assassin remains alone? Will Jacob have to close the orphanage or does he find help in the most unexpected way?
Relationships: Jacob Pederson/Duncan Vizla
Comments: 60
Kudos: 42
Collections: 2020 Eat The Rude Big Bang





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Vix_spes for support, rickandrobin for betaing until RL interfered but most importantly to thequietscribe who stepped in at the last hour to be a pinch-hit beta. On-the-spot suggestions, probing questions about characters, motivations, and plot points helped this writer perform the nearly Sisyphean task of bringing this story to completion. Hours and hours of chatting back and forth on this revision or that turned into months of work on their part as this story morphed into a monster. I owe more than I can say and am so very grateful for everything you've taught me about writing. This is as much your story as mine in many ways.
> 
> The wonderful artist who paired with us is Kishafisha! The art is simply sublime and everyone should go and check out their AO3 as well! It was an honor and delight to work with you. Thank you so much for making the story come alive.

Jacob wonders, for what was probably the millionth time, what the hell he is doing at a Danish wedding. He looks around at the lavish floral displays, endless booze, and trays of food and is sick to his stomach, thinking of how all this money could be better spent back home. They would appreciate it more. _No one here will remember any of this tomorrow. What a waste._

The only reason he had gotten on the plane at all was the fear of letting down Pramod. He knew he shouldn’t have favorites, but somehow, the smallest boy at the orphanage had found a way past his considerable defenses.

It is all because Jørgen Lennart Hannson, the CEO of a successful Danish corporation in need of tax write-offs, wanted to establish a charitable foundation and had announced a world-wide search for applicants. Jacob’s orphanage was one of the finalists, and the announcement of the chosen recipient will be made within forty-eight hours of Hannson’s daughter’s lavish wedding. As part of the publicity, Lennart Hannson insisted that all finalists must appear on stage in person at the event to showcase the announcement of the initial donation. Basically, a photo op of all them holding an edge of a large phony blank check, the kind reserved for sweepstakes winners. Jacob also sees it as a networking opportunity that even if he did not get the money from the foundation, he could perhaps get a few private donations. He had researched the guestlist and saw a few possibilities.

He rubs a hand across his lips, wishing for a glass of Aam Panna, the sour, tangy-sweet, raw mango drink. Anything to remind him of home and cheer his spirits. All around him, everything is in whites, silver, and blue, tasteful in a way that the conspicuous consumption around him isn't. He hadn’t been to any weddings since moving to Mumbai, but the vibrant celebration of Holi was a far cry from this. Holi, the annual celebration of spring, a mixture of the religious and secular, a festival of colors with the rich vibrancy of turmeric yellow, shades of malachite green, peacock blue, and vibrant red, colored clouds hanging in the air. And of course, the obligatory water balloon fights. Despite only having been away for thirty-six hours, the pang of homesickness is keen. He sighs as he realizes he needs to get out of this mood if there is any chance of ever getting any donations. He knows he needs to get better at this kind of thing. After all, the orphanage needs a new roof, an enclosed yard, and countless other improvements, and these things cost money. His struggle over the past eight years to keep the place solvent with the constant looming threat of bankruptcy keeps him awake most nights. The thought of kicking out all those kids onto the street is unimaginable. _Let’s just start with finding a simple glass of water._ He thinks, _one task at a time._

Determined to push his fears aside for a few more hours to get on with his job, he stands up quickly, nearly colliding with a twittering bridesmaid. He apologizes, but something in his looks or manner must have piqued her interest because he finds himself dragged off to the bar. It hurt his eyes to look at her. She is a blur of fluffy pink hair atop a mass of peacock blue tulle. He thought there was a smattering of flashbulbs aimed in his direction, and he hopes it is for some other poor unfortunate couple and not himself and whomever he is now suddenly with.

Once at the open bar, the bridesmaid asks him to order something “with peach in it." Before he has a chance to respond, she turns away, takes out a compact, and starts redoing her lipstick. Distinctly unimpressed but unfailingly polite, he pulls out what little money he has. Denmark is much more expensive than he’d remembered and budgeted for. He isn’t planning on having any alcohol as he can’t afford to get drunk, and this is a business negotiation, after all. He stares at what money he has left, mentally calculating a tip, and then looks up at the bartender for a long moment. Realizing he has no choice now, he hands over his money for the tip and asks for something ‘peach flavored’.

“You mean like a Peach Crush?” The bartender helpfully supplies.

Jacob nods and frowns. 

“And for you, sir?” 

“Tap water with ice?” Jacob replies. He’s thinking of his rapidly dwindling supply of cash, wondering if he’ll be able to afford a taxi or whether he’ll be able to afford to eat tomorrow.

“We don’t serve tap water,” the bartender says, and Jacob’s heart sinks, “but I can get you a soda on ice. Will that all be right?”

Something in Jacob’s face must have given away how out of his depth he was. He didn’t typically drink soda. Then he spied a carton of juice near the bottles of booze and brightened up.

Jacob inquired nervously, “May I get a glass of juice instead? No ice?”

“Absolutely. We have pineapple, orange, tomato, and cranberry juice. Which one sounds good?” 

“Orange juice. Thank you.” 

Within minutes, a yellowish-orange drink with a sprig of mint appears in front of Jacob. As inconspicuously as he can, he places it in front of the peacock tulle-clad bridesmaid who’s apparently forgotten all about him and is chatting with one of the groomsmen. Rolling his eyes, he turns back to the bartender to find a full glass of juice sitting in front of him. He raises the drink in a silent thanks before turning and working out the best route through the throng of guests back to his seat.

Once he runs that gauntlet, he’s back at his table, surrounded by other guests all determined to try and engage him in inane small talk. Once he starts to chat with the other guests at the table though he begins to feel a little more at ease. They are all here for the foundation grant money, and all would rather be anywhere but here. At least they are all in the same awkward boat together. 

Soon it’s time for the next hurdle-the plated dinner. Nowadays, he’s a vegetarian. At first, he did it purely as a matter of economics and a desire to fit in. But over the years, it's become such a habit that he'd automatically ticked the 'vegetarian' box in the dietary requirements when filling in the form. Looking on as everyone else at the table gets served before him, he is regretting that now, having chosen to forgo lunch, knowing he was coming here. He watches everyone at the table get served before him. He sips his drink, wrinkling his nose at the taste, a pale imitation of what he was expecting. However, it’s acceptable, cold, and wet. That’s all he requires at the moment. Other than food. Given what he was seeing, it seems that he’s the sole vegetarian at the wedding, definitely at this table. He isn’t surprised, but he can’t help looking at the other choices, even if they aren’t to his taste. 

As more and more plates come from the kitchen, it’s evident the bride adheres to a strict concept of minimalism, which extends even to the dining choices. Everything’s tiny, meager mouthfuls of protein and vegetables. _It’s a travesty to describe the beef as a steak. It’s as big as two of my fingers, and I don’t have large hands._ No matter what each guest ordered, beef, chicken, or fish, portion sizes are downright stingy. _I wonder if that’s where they cost saved some money for the foundation grants?_ The errant thought flits through his head, and he coughs suddenly to prevent himself from laughing out loud. He sees a waiter walking through from the kitchen with a metal-dome covered plate. _Finally! I’m starving,_ he thinks as the dish is set in front of him, and the cover removed with a flourish. 

He can’t help it. He chuckles as he looks at the plate with two baby carrots, two small asparagus spears, and a small floweret of broccoli. They’re barely cooked too, just this side of being raw. The other guests at the table all grin at the ridiculousness of the dinner offerings as well. Now the table of misfits feels like they are soldiers in arms at this ridiculous wedding. Jacob is very glad that he’s foregoing any alcohol. Given what passes as dinner, many guests will wind up inebriated. The basket of rolls has been quickly emptied by his dinner companions and whisked away to be refilled by the waitstaff.

He picks up his glass of orange juice, and the smell hits him with a bout of homesickness and nostalgia; of the children's laughter as he juggled some donated oranges for them before handing them out. They had been delighted by such a simple trick, and the smell of the oranges had filled the orphanage for the rest of the day.

He's brought out of his reverie by a stoic, uniformed waitstaff placing down a fresh breadbasket. _If only multimillionaires were as easy to please as children._ He thanks her and sets the rolls to the side of his plate before nibbling his nearly raw vegetables, trying to make his dinner last as long as he’s able, not wanting to wolf his food down. 

After dinner and the inevitable speeches, it’s time for the standard wedding reception photos. Everyone’s attention is diverted elsewhere, whether breaking for the bar, dance floor, or photography area. Jacob tries to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as he dislikes dancing. It doesn’t work. On his way to the bar to try and get another juice, hoping the bartender won’t engage him in small talk, he is pulled into the embrace of a dark-eyed mysterious man. A man that-if Jacob was more aware of his surroundings-would have noticed had been paying particular attention to him all evening. Attention that was supposed to be elsewhere.

“Namaste.” Jacob’s not sure what made him greet the stranger in Hindi, other than he’s flustered both by being swept onto the dance floor as well as the faux pas. He blinks as he mentally processes what he just said and follows it up with English. “Do I know you? Have we met before?” he asks as he is whisked around the dance floor with a surety that means he doesn’t have to think about what he is doing with his feet. He notices other people look at them together. Despite feeling a little self-conscious, he does not attempt to remove himself from the older man.

“I don’t think so.” The man responds. Jacob cannot place the accent, and he definitely does not recognize him.

“Then why are we dancing?” Jacob asks as he is spun around once more. 

“Do you mind?” The stranger asks. “I was trying to avoid someone.”

Jacob looks at him properly then and realizes that the man is not actually looking at him as he sweeps him around. Something Jacob is both impressed and put out by. “I guess not,” Jacob says, making no attempt to break free from the man’s firm grip.

“I can stop if you like?” The man says but does not stop or even slow down. His intent gaze still over Jacob’s shoulder, scanning the crowd.

“We can wait until the song has finished, I suppose,” Jacob says as he is harshly spun around in a different direction. “Ahhh! Who exactly are you trying to avoid?”

“Apologies.” The man says and slows down a little, much to Jacob’s relief. “Just someone I would prefer not to see me.”

“That’s vague. Is it an ex?” Jacob asks as he looks around to see if any of the guests are still watching them. No one is now, which makes Jacob wonder if this man is even telling the truth. However, the stranger’s concentration, despite the surety of movement, certainly seems to be on someone other than Jacob. 

“Something like that.” The man responds with a wry smile.

Jacob rolls his eyes. Obviously, he is not going to get a straight answer. “Will you at least tell me your name?”

The music slows a little, and the man finally looks at him. 

“Duncan.” He says, and then as soon as his eyes meet Jacob’s, they are gone again over his shoulder. Jacob tries not to think how annoyed he is that this man will not look at him, let alone how he felt when he did. 

“Nice to meet you, Duncan. I am Jacob, by the way.” He says a little annoyed and perhaps disappointed that Duncan did not even ask his name.

“Nice to meet you, Jacob.” 

“Are you a guest of the bride or groom?” Jacob asks a standard question. 

He never was very good at small talk. Still, it’s doubly hard to concentrate with Duncan moving him around the dance floor with an ease that belies his very tall, muscular frame. Despite his awkwardness with their conversation, Jacob wants more answers out of the man. He wants to force Duncan into interacting with him, rather than some anonymous person out there, even if Duncan’s attempting to avoid them. 

As if Duncan could read his thoughts, he suddenly looks at Jacob, contemplating him with a lingering, scrutinizing gaze. Jacob ignores the butterflies that are making themselves known in his stomach and flushes under his scrutiny. 

“Let's just say it’s complicated, “ replies Duncan casually. He really does not have time for this as he scans the crowd. _Focus on something other than the man in your arms!_ He admonishes himself. 

Jacob chuckles. He’s never known anyone not to answer a question with such consistency outside of politics. 

“Well, you can’t have crashed! This place is out in the middle of nowhere! I mean, why would you bother?”

Duncan looks at him again with that piercing gaze. Jacob sees a microexpression, a tiny twitch of Duncan’s mouth, just a corner pulled upward. Despite it being as brief as an eye blink, Jacob really does feel butterflies then. 

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“In case you didn’t notice, you did just grab me and start dancing with me! What did you expect?” Jacob says as he is moved once again to his right so Duncan can seemingly get a good look at something over his shoulder.

“It’s a wedding. People dance.”

“Usually, people are asked first,” Jacob says, annoyed. He feels Duncan is basically using him while ignoring him as much as possible. The only thing different in the last few minutes is that Duncan is speaking with him, but not actually answering anything useful. He's still not looking at him and has his main attention elsewhere. The more he thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets. _Is it possible that the man doesn’t realize how rude he’s being?_

“True. My sincere apologies,” Duncan says. “In this case, it was an emergency.”

“A dance emergency. Of course.” Jacob replies ruefully, his mouth pulling up at one corner. He’s too intrigued with Duncan to hold onto his annoyance for long.

The song comes to an end, and Duncan releases him but holds onto his hand for a moment.

“Thank you, Jacob.” He says and raises Jacob’s hand up to his mouth.

He feels the soft hairs of Duncan’s mustache against his skin, and his stomach drops. Duncan presses a gentle kiss to the top of Jacob’s fingers before letting his hand go. Jacob wants to say something witty, charming, but his dazed brain only comes up with, “Wait!” Jacob calls out as Duncan moves away, slips away into the crowd, then out of Jacob’s sight.

Jacob tries to follow, calling “Wait!” again. He makes it out of the room and into the hallway, looking left and right, but the man is gone. Jacob’s bewildered at Duncan’s disappearance, the speed of his flight. _Was it me? Did I do something wrong? I wonder who the mystery person was that would make Duncan so desperate to escape them? No sign of him at all._ Jacob sighs, rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, then shakes his head before making his way back to the wedding in search of a drink.


	2. Acquisition

Duncan had to follow the target as he left the hall. Even though part of him would rather have stayed dancing with the young man he had accosted. The young man, Jacob, just happened to be passing at the exact right moment that he had needed some cover. Having admired the man from a distance, he was even more pleased when he got a closer look. Jacob was tanned, young, clean-shaven, and strikingly beautiful. Light yet solid in his hands, it had made Duncan almost lose sight of the target completely. Despite the man's incessant questioning, he had managed to regain focus on his real objective and extracted himself at the end of the song.

Making his way to the adjacent room, Duncan takes his black leather gloves from inside his suit jacket pocket and puts them on. He retrieves the gun and silencer from where it was stashed under one of the chairs and quickly assembles it before slipping the gun into its holster which is hidden on the inside of his waistband, clipped to his belt and thus nearly invisible. He makes his way through the lamplit room and out of the French doors to the garden where he can hear the target talking loudly on the phone. 

He is quiet and determined as he follows the voice. His feet make minimal noise on the gravel of the path. His target is drunk and distracted and probably would not have noticed if Duncan was as loud as a herd of elephants behind him. He is gaining on the target and sees the perfect cover- a planting of large topiary trees- in which to pull the man into and shoot, keeping the body hidden long enough for him to slip away around the corner of the building. He could be past the exit and into his waiting vehicle before anyone was the wiser. He's satisfied with his plan, given how many things could have gone wrong at a venue of this size.

He is about to make a move as the target's phone call comes to a stop when there is movement off to the right that has him stepping off to the side, so he is hidden in the shadows out of easy notice.

“Mr. Stine?” says a voice coming from one of the other doors that leads out into the garden. A voice Duncan recognizes. “May I have a word?”

The target stops and looks up at Jacob, walking over. Duncan takes a step to his left, so he is hidden behind the trees he was going to use as cover. He waits, intent on using this as a way to gather more information about the man’s plans. 

Mr. Stine finishes his phone call, and Duncan watches the target take a cigar and lighter from his jacket pocket, before lighting the cigar and waving it condescendingly in Jacob’s direction, directing him to continue. Jacob stops in front of the man.

“Sorry to bother you,” Jacob says. “I saw you out here and wondered if I could have a moment of your time? To talk about the tax breaks for giving to a charity?”

Duncan can appreciate the way that Jacob phrased his request. Good idea to mention the tax breaks before any moral benefit from philanthropy. Like every other job, he doesn't know the target, this Mr. Stine, personally, but he doesn’t have to, this contemptible type is a dime a dozen in his line of work. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Pederson?” The target says and holds out his hand for Jacob to take. Even from his hiding place, Duncan can see the slight hesitation on Jacob’s part as he wipes his hand quickly on his pant leg before grasping Mr. Stine’s in a quick, professional handshake. Mr. Stine is drunk enough not to notice the delay in executing the greeting.“You do orphanages? In India or somewhere?” Mr. Stine says as he waves the cigar around in front of Jacob’s face.

Duncan watches as Jacob, unaccustomed to cigar smoke, startles. Jacob inadvertently takes a deep breath and inevitably, suppresses a cough before responding. 

“Yes, India. We run an orphanage out there, and in dire need of funds.”

“Yes, yes, most people are.” Mr. Stine responds as he sucks on his thick cigar, a cloud of smoke wreathing his head. “How can I help you?”

“Right now, we require money for basic infrastructure and education. If you require any additional information as to other agencies I’ve worked with previously, with regards to the scope of projects, references, things like that, I can allay your concerns.” Duncan can hear the confidence in Jacob’s voice. He also wishes Jacob would leave so he can get on with ridding the world of this odious man. 

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go in and have a talk over whiskey. It’s bloody freezing out here.” Mr. Stine says and claps Jacob hard on the back before leading them both back inside.

Duncan watches them go. He hates to leave a job unfinished, but the likelihood of having another opportunity is slim. Especially as Duncan only arranged for Mr. Stine to have one phone call this evening. He was hoping, after all, it would be his last.

________________________________

Jacob spoke to Mr. Stine for over an hour. Speaking to him, of course, meant Mr. Stine talked at him for over an hour while drinking over-priced whiskey, smoking Cuban cigars, and singing his own praises loudly enough for anyone in Australia to hear. Thankfully the man agreed on a substantial donation, which made the whole ordeal worth it. As Mr. Stine was distracted by one of the bridesmaids, now inebriated enough that she might just be persuaded, (Mr. Stine’s words, not his), Jacob took the opportunity to go outside and have a smoke before going home to his bed. 

He is only out in the garden a moment when he’s startled to hear a familiar voice, one that he didn’t think he’d hear again. “My dance partner. I thought I lost you.”

Jacob turns with a jump, and there stands Duncan in a black suit, also smoking, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 

“You! Why do you enjoy startling me?” Jacob says.

“I’m sorry. Tonight, all I seem to be doing with you is dancing and apologizing,” Duncan says as he walks over and leans against the wall next to Jacob. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised now if you hadn’t left me earlier. You were the one who ran off. Where did you disappear to?” Jacob asks, knowing he will probably not get a straight answer from Duncan. However, his response is suddenly less important than the fact that he wants to engage Duncan in conversation. Being alone at the wedding, he’s reminded of how little companionship he has back home. There’s intrigue, interest, excitement, things that Jacob’s long been missing. Seeing Duncan again piques his curiosity. 

The response from Duncan is brief, a barely visible twitch at the side of his lips before he takes a drag of his cigarette. “You know, around.”

Jacob laughs, “Seriously, do you ever give a straight answer to any questions?”

“Do you? You seem to be overly fond only of asking them.” 

Jacob attempts to think of anything that he hasn’t answered yet, mentally running through their meager conversations and is annoyed at being unable to come up with anything. He frowns, “Go ahead. Ask me something, then!”

“Like what?” Duncan says.

“I don’t know. The common questions people ask each other.”

“Hmm,” Duncan says, seeming to ponder this.“What questions are those?”

Jacob laughs again. “You really are the most infuriating person I have ever met.”

“More so than, say, Mr. Stine?” Duncan says, looking at Jacob, seemingly for a reaction. 

Jacob nods, “I take your point. Second most.” he says and takes a long drag of his cigarette. There is a silence between them as they both smoke. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I was talking to him?”

“To whom?” Duncan says, finishing his cigarette. Jacob laughs and offers Duncan another, which he takes and lights. 

“Mr. Stine,” Jacob says.

“Ah, I would imagine because you wanted or needed something.” 

Jacob blushes and looks at Duncan, lit in the soft light from the window and the moonlight, noticing the man’s hair a silvery grey, his beard matching, except for his mustache, which is darker, almost black. Duncan is wearing a black suit with no tailored embellishments, nothing to draw the eye, with a white shirt and black tie. The suit is well-fitting, expensive, subtly sophisticated. _Much like the man wearing it, definitely sophisticated_ , thinks Jacob. It’s obvious that Duncan’s suit looks like it cost a hell of a lot more than his cheap off-the-rack number. 

“Not me,” Jacob says. “People I care about, though.”

Duncan nods, “I assumed something like that. You don’t seem the sort to be concerned with yourself.”

“You made this assertion in the five minutes you have known me?”

“I can size people up pretty quick,” Duncan says and looks at Jacob. “You look...nice.”

Jacob laughs, throwing his head back as he does. “Nice?!” 

“What’s wrong with nice?” Duncan says, and Jacob thinks the man sounds a little hurt. Jacob realizes Duncan meant it as a compliment.

“Nothing, it’s just not the most exciting word, is it? Nice just means you don’t know what else to say: it’s a word with no meaning. Impossible to take offense to.”

“Yet you have,” Duncan says, his eyes twinkling. He tries hard not to stare at the exposed line of Jacob’s throat and settles for taking another drag on his cigarette.

“Ha!” Jacob says. “Yes, I suppose I have! I don’t feel nice. I feel a little ashamed of having to cozy up to someone like Stine, tell him what he wants to hear when all I want to do is grab him and start shouting about hoarding wealth and all the good he could do if he wanted.”

“Not nice then.” Duncan pauses, and his dark eyes look straight at Jacob. “Kind. You seem kind. That’s rare.”

Jacob does not respond straight away, a little taken aback by such a compliment from this dark, mysterious stranger. 

“Kind, I can take. I try to be, at least when I’m able.”

“More than most people in this world.” 

“You are very cynical,” Jacob says, not that he disagrees. He’s seen a lot of human cruelty in his line of work but also seen kindness and love. “Not everyone is Mr. Stine.”

“Not everyone is you, Jacob. Most of us are somewhere in between.” Duncan says and finishes his cigarette. “Well, it was nice talking to you. I should really go.” 

“Go where? We are in the middle of nowhere, and it’s one AM!”

Duncan’s mouth twitches, and he puts his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “There you go again with your questions.”

Jacob laughs, and they lock eyes for a moment, but it is tantalizingly brief, and before he can say anything, Duncan slips off into the dark of the garden and seemingly disappears. Jacob thinks about following him, mentally castigating himself for not getting the man’s phone number or even a business card. He hears that annoying voice before he can change that fact, followed by feeling a hand clap his shoulder too hard. 

“There you are!” Stine says, lighting up another cigar. “I was just telling my dear friend all about this orphanage you have. Please come and tell us again about all you do!” Stine drags Jacob back inside before he can protest, so he never sees where Duncan went.


	3. Pursuit

The next day is filled with disappointments for Jacob. He meets with Jørgen Lennart Hannson, who tells Jacob that he’s chosen to give money to another applicant. The brush off is all business, just a better rate of return on his investment. A ‘thank you for coming and don’t let the door hit you on the way out’ sort of goodbye. 

Jacob always suspected that a refusal might happen. He wondered if it was the sheer number of applicants or something as simple as his slightly out of fashion suit. He knew trying to get investors interested in orphans was a hard sell. Nowadays, it seems to be all about the environment and global warming, trendier topics without any awkward social interactions. Topics that looked better on paper and in publicity for the company, especially with prospective wealthy millennials. He tried to think if he had stepped on anyone’s toes while being spun around on the dance floor by Duncan. He shook his head to clear it, trying to reassure himself that the trip isn’t a total waste. He still has a luncheon meeting with the odious Mr. Stine, ostensibly, to seal the deal about the donation. 

He arrives back at the hotel after being dropped off by a cab. He’s walking through the lobby when one of the desk clerks calls him over. 

“Is there a problem? I have a business meeting, and I can’t be late,” he says to the receptionist. 

“This urgent message was left for you,” replies the clerk as he hands over a sealed envelope.

Jacob thanks him and opens the envelope, idly imagining improbable scenarios as he unfolds the paper. He scans it, nearly tearing it in two but forcing himself to read it through more slowly a second time. It’s from Stine, canceling their business luncheon. Apparently, Mr. Stine had received an urgent summons to attend a meeting for an overseas concern and is flying out of the country. Mr. Stine expects to be back in Denmark in possibly three weeks, perhaps even longer. _Was it all a sham last night?_ Jacob thinks. _Getting strung along by a self-important drunk?_ He couldn’t tell if the businessman’s intentions were legitimate or not. _I thought I was getting better at these things._ He blamed his lack of focus on his mysterious dance partner. _I lost both prospects because my head wasn’t in the game. Got distracted by a pair of hazel eyes and a dancer’s feet._ He vows it won’t happen again. 

Jacob struggles to bring his heart rate under control. To come so close. He would be leaving for Mumbai as soon as possible now. No reason to stay. _How am I going to look them in the eye? When the failure is all my fault?_ He’s glad that he hadn’t eaten anything. Acid is churning away in his stomach. He punches the elevator call button and wonders how quickly he can be out of Denmark. He never wants to come back.

___________________________

Duncan is at the Turkish Airlines desk, checking in for his flight to Islamabad. As he collects his business class boarding pass, he is keeping a surreptitious eye on his target. It isn't difficult. Mr. Stine is both large and loud in a way that not many people manage. He makes his way to the security checkpoint, keeping a keen eye on his quarry all the while.

He only had to finish this job, and it would all be over with Damocles. He tries not to think about the future. A lack of concentration will only get him killed. He scrutinizes Stine as the passengers queue, watching the man slip off his jacket, belt, and shoes, and place his carry-on in the tray. Stepping through the metal detector, a buzzer sounds, and Stine is surrounded by more security. A heated discussion ensues as Stine loudly objects to being searched. Duncan passes through the checkpoint with no trouble. He lingers at the checkpoint exit, pretending to be looking for the departure information on the overhead screens, while he waits for Stine to emerge.

When he does, he is much more disheveled and irate. Ignoring his surroundings and hissing oaths into his smartphone, he strides past Duncan, clearly heading to the Club lounge. Duncan trails behind, an unseen menace. 

Duncan takes up a spot outside the lounge, where he charges his smartphone and checks the local paper. Through the closed glass doors, he can hear Mr. Stine’s raised voice as he loudly argues for a whiskey with either a bartender or wait staff inside. Twenty minutes later, the flight is called. Stine emerges from the lounge, nearly pushing people aside in his haste to get to the boarding area. 

The flight itself was innocuous but gave Duncan time to rearrange the puzzle pieces of his plan. The additional alcohol Stine imbibed is sufficient to render him into a stupor, and his snores rumbled through business class. _A small price to pay_ , thought Duncan.

Once they touched down, Duncan let Stine go without following him as he already had a good idea of where he was going. He decided to check in with his contact to see if they had any updates for him before confirming his plan.

________________________

Duncan pulls up in his rented car in front of a nondescript office building and heads inside. Among the mix of medical offices, courier services, and real estate companies, there is a door marked ‘Magpie.’ Duncan knocks, the door buzzes, and he walks in.

“Aarav, what do you have for me?” 

“He’s chatting about Mumbai and Kolkata. Said he’s going to add to his collection soon. Whatever that means,” answers the sole occupant of the office, sitting in front of a bank of computer screens, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. 

Duncan pulls up a plastic chair and sits down, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“When did this new chatter thread start?” Duncan asks, looking at the monitors.

Aarav scrolls through the information and stops, tapping a computer screen. “Here. About two months ago. He’s been in contact with New York, but that’s not unusual.” 

Duncan has a nagging feeling, a vague memory of something, but dismisses it for the moment. His thought process is interrupted when Aarav points to the screen. 

“There is a meet tomorrow afternoon. The whole group will be there, one pm tomorrow.” 

Checking his watch, Duncan frowns, that doesn’t give him a lot of time, but it should still be enough. “It’s not the easiest place to gain access to, especially on your own. Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

He looks at the screen. The place does look like a heavily guarded stronghold. Maybe he can get Stine on the way in or out. 

“How does he usually travel when here?”

“Usually by an armored car, with at least one bodyguard. He expects more trouble from the locals here. If you are thinking of getting him as he arrives or leaves, that could be tricky.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Duncan said, already thinking of possibilities. If only he had his American contacts. “Is there a weapons specialist I can use? I am afraid my contact has been…deactivated.”

Aarav smirks, knowing what that means. Weapons dealers have a short life expectancy. “Sure, I can give you a name.”

________________________

Turns out the contact Aarav had put Duncan in touch with had a limited supply, to say the least. Duncan’s plan is much sketchier than he would like. It’s pretty much the ‘let’s get there and wing it’ plan. He rarely works like this. He is precision and excellence. He is also motivated to kill this guy, as he has evaded Duncan once. He's not used to failure. 

So, here he is, waiting on a rooftop with a sniper rifle and a bag of weapons. The compound where Stine’s due to arrive at any moment is across the street from where he’s situated. The walls around it are higher than any of the buildings surrounding it, including the one he is on. He knows it’s unlikely he will get a shot at Stine before he enters, but it’s the best option out of a bad lot.

So he waits.

Just after one pm, an armored limo with tinted windows pulls up to the gates. Duncan holds his breath as he looks through the scope, hoping for at least a window to be rolled down. A glimpse is all he needs. 

Nothing. 

The car is allowed through by the guard, and the gates shut behind it. _Shit._ Duncan thinks _Time for plan B._

Plan B involves the element of surprise and a lot of stealth. Early this morning before Stine arrived, Duncan cased the compound. The wall around it was well guarded and high. The best option is a distraction. The weapons guy had a lot of small but powerful explosives, the kind used mostly in suicide vests. Duncan plants a load around the back of the compound connected to a remote detonator.

He makes his way down from his perch, waiting just out of sight by the building across from the compound. He waits for around ten minutes giving Stine time to go inside and for the guards to relax again. Then he presses the detonator, and all hell breaks loose. The explosion is loud, deafening, and the cloud of dust it kicks up can be seen for miles. People are screaming and running. Most notably, the guards from the front entrance run around to the back, and Duncan takes his chance.

Running across the road, he keeps his head down, and his movements quick. He makes it to the gate just as a set of guards from inside are coming out to see what the problem is. Duncan shoots both of them in the head and makes his way inside, sticking close to the wall at first. He quickly assesses the layout, having seen it on the screen at Aarav’s. Looking across the courtyard, he can see Stine’s car. He makes his way quickly towards it, gun out in front of him, but most of the guards seem to be running to the back now or staying inside. 

He gets to the limo and crouches down beside it, trying the passenger door. Thankfully it’s open. He gets in, carefully closing the door behind him, he crawls across the seat and sits up just as the driver puts the partition down. Duncan leans over and holds the guy in a vice-like grip, cutting off the air supply quickly. Just as the driver loses consciousness, the passenger door is swung open by one of Stine’s bodyguards. The man raises his gun. Duncan shoots him, but not before he shouts a warning to Stine, who moves surprisingly fast for a man of his size. _There’s nothing like putting the fear of God into someone for getting them motivated,_ thinks Duncan.

Duncan kicks the body of the bodyguard out of his way so he can peer out of the door of the car. As he does, a shot narrowly misses his head.

Duncan sighs exasperatedly as he realizes Stine actually has two personal guards. He closes the door of the limo and locks it.

Crawling quickly through the partition to the driver’s side, he opens the door and pushes the driver out and locks the door again. He can see the second bodyguard now running towards the limo firing shots at the windscreen. Holes are beginning to crack the glass. 

Duncan knows he has lost his chance.

He starts the limo and reverses it straight out towards the gates. He can hear screaming and shouting as he realizes the gates are now shut. He knows his only chance is to ram them and hope this armored limo carries some weight. He considers briefly the thought of going through the hole he'd blown near the back of the compound, but is uncertain whether the windscreen will hold against too many more bullets. Time is not his friend here, and he can already see more guards converting towards the threat he presents.

He takes a deep breath and floors the car in reverse. He can see guards running to get out of his way as gunfire hits the vehicle on all sides. When he hits the gates, he takes out the rear bumper and crumples the trunk of the car. The side of the car loudly scrapes against the crumpled gate as he continues through it, making a horrible screeching sound. He manages to turn the car around at speed and slam it into drive, before flooring it down the road towards anywhere but here. 

———————————

“Aarav, tell me you’ve got better news for me,” Duncan says into his phone.

“Whatever you did really spooked him. He’s flying to Mumbai.”

Duncan grunts thanks, hangs up the phone and breaks the SIM card in two. He can be at the airport in forty-five minutes. _Third time’s a charm._


	4. Target practice

Duncan’s on the ground in Mumbai and having difficulty tracing Stine, who’s gone suspiciously quiet. He checks in with one of his intelligence contacts to see if he can turn up any cellular chatter. He’s given three possible targets, none of which are conveniently close to each other. He can cover two of them, just barely. He also asks for the floorplan of Stine’s country estate as well as information about staff and security. He packs lightly, with only three guns and his kukri. The knife will go in a sheath on his back, where he can pull it out quickly. He’s actually looking forward to this. It’s always nice to rid the Earth of garbage and do his part for the environment. He pours himself a coffee as he sits down to memorize floor plans, computer passwords, and formulate his strategy.

———————————

Jacob’s back at the orphanage. The children don’t care about his failure, only that he’s back. It’s a much more difficult conversation with the orphanage's proprietor, Mrs. Shaw. Much like Jacob, hers is a multifaceted job, occasionally, including nursemaid on an emergency basis. She assures him that he hasn’t failed. Both scenarios were a long shot in the best of worlds, but it didn’t take away the sting of defeat.

He decides to throw himself into fixing what he can around the place, hoping the physical exertion will dull the ruminations. Mrs. Shaw knows Mr. Chabra, who will give them roof tiles relatively cheap if Jacob agrees to help with fixing the roof, among some other odd jobs. Eager to be useful, he readily agrees. The materials should arrive within a couple of days. 

___________________________________

The next morning, Jacob strides through the courtyard, scattering chickens and the last straggler children on their way to lessons. Mrs. Shaw calls him over and lets him know the roofing tiles arrived sooner than expected and that Mr. Chabra’s bringing them over on his truck. Within the hour, Jacob is up on the roof, mostly carrying terracotta tiles, leaving them in neat rows for Mr. Chabra to set in place, mixing mortar as needed, and carrying it up in buckets to the rooftop. 

As he works, he loses track of time, performing one repetitive task after another. Aside from the dance at the wedding, this is the first time, his internal monologue has shut off, and he’s grateful for the respite. He stops for a moment to stretch his back muscles after carrying another load of terra cotta up to the roof. 

Below him in the building, Mrs. Shaw rings the bell, and the courtyard is suddenly filled with laughing, shrieking children. Many of them sort themselves into two teams and practice football. There is a group of young girls, over in the corner. Among them, he sees Chandra and Sucheta pull out a jump rope, their braids flying up off their shoulders as they twirl and jump. Another group of children line up, practicing a series of popular dance steps while singing a popular tune from the radio. Jacob notices them all, automatically doing a mental headcount. His gaze moves from one corner of the yard to the other, from the quiet ones sitting in the sun reading a comic to themselves to the younger children chasing the chickens and giving the rooster a wide berth. Out of habit, he looks for Pramod and sees him head butt a football to Rashid, setting up a pass. He watches the younger boy for a few more moments, who’s unaware of Jacob’s scrutiny. It’s a cacophony, and Jacob smiles at the semi-organized chaos, everything he cares about within these walls.

Deciding that he'd best go and help with organizing the children, he's just finishing setting aside some tiles when the alarmed scream of Mrs. Shaw calling Pramod's name causes him to almost drop them in an ungainly pile, corralling them before they skid off the incline and tumble to the ground.

He looks up, wondering what the trouble might be. He sees Mrs. Shaw’s frightened face as she rounds up the rest of the children. Jacob’s tempted to jump off the roof, but its height gives him pause. The last thing he needs is to break an ankle. He climbs halfway down the ladder, missing rungs in his haste, and jumps off. He sprints over to Mrs. Shaw, thinking of sprained ankles, bruises, and bloody noses while looking for and not seeing Pramod. 

His anxiety skyrockets. 

In contrast to his contentment a few scant moments before, Jacob is cognizant of the risk of city life. The orphanage is situated in a perilous neighborhood, a mix of brothels, drug dens, and crushing poverty, the area scattered throughout with hardscrabble respectable businesses. It’s been an uneasy trade-off - their large compound primarily affordable due to the proximity of some of the worst cruelty. Often, they prevail over the pimps, drug dealers, sex traffickers, thieves, and murderers. Jacob and Mrs. Shaw fight for every child to grow up secure and safe, to not drift into the dark streets, lured by empty promises and easy enticements. Jacob’s heart aches for every child he’s lost, whether to sickness or bad choices. He remembers them all. He couldn’t bear it if... 

“What’s going on? Where’s Pramod?” he shouts over the crying children. 

“They took him right off the street!” She points to a vintage Jaguar XJ, which is prevented from driving off by a farmer with a broken-down pickup truck full of produce. Jacob zig-zags around bags of sand and cement, buckets of water, and terracotta tiles. As he passes the buckets, he grabs a full one near the entryway and races for the Jag. A well-dressed giant of a man exits the car as he sees Jacob running towards him. Jacob shifts his hands so that he grabs the bucket handle with both hands and swings it in a broad arc, intending to keep as far away from the larger man’s reach as he can. His foot slips in a pile of sand, and he nearly falls. He hurls the bucket, but his near fall means the flying weapon doesn’t have the accuracy or the speed he hoped for. The giant manages to bat it away, winching as it connects with his arm and getting splashed in the process. Jacob watches the bodyguard’s face change.

_Fuck! All I did is piss him off more_ , thinks Jacob.

The bodyguard moves to reach for and draw a weapon. The back window glides down, and Jacob is stunned to catch a glimpse of Stine. His mind races, struggling to adapt to what he sees, running through scenarios, however implausible. _Maybe Mrs. Shaw is wrong about Pramod? It’s not the first time he’s played hide and seek. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding? We don’t have the best phone service here. Did I miss a text, a call? Is he here for funding after all? Maybe reconsidering?_

What he hears next is unimaginable. 

“Beat him. Teach him a lesson. But leave him alive. This doesn’t need to be in the papers.” Stine hisses while Jacob catches a glimpse of Pramod struggling in the back seat, trying to get to the car door. 

Jacob hears Pramod shout his name before Stine backhands him, cutting off the cry. The rising car window cuts off any further noise from inside the car. 

Jacob is utterly lost, nearly swaying on his feet. Feelings of confusion give way to betrayal, before the lash of self-flagellation, a mix of blame and guilt, something Jacob knows only too well how to wield it on himself these past few weeks. Even so, he’s never been blindsided like this before. There’s no one to blame but himself. If their situation wasn’t so dire, he never would have made the trip. Never met the man. Pramod would be safe if not for him. _If anything more happens to him, I'll never forgive myself. I let a predator into our midst._

This isn’t helping. He snarls at himself in frustration and thumps himself savagely with a closed fist on his thigh. It’s his anger that finally gets him to move. 

Jacob threatens, “I’ll kill you for that, Stine! Don’t you dare touch him!” His attention is torn between the car and the more immediate threat of the bodyguard. He scrambles in the sand for something substantial, grabs a few broken pieces of terra cotta tile, more to have something in his hands as a potential weapon, looking for an opening, trying to calm his racing thoughts. _If I can distract him, get to the car door. It’s a long shot at best._ Jacob aims at the guard and throws the shards, one after the other, going for the man’s face. Jacob pivots toward the car door.

While he’s distracted, before he can do anything else, the bodyguard kicks Jacob’s feet out from under him. He falls to the ground. What follows isn’t pretty. The giant kicks him in the kidneys and moves around to attack his chest and abdomen as Jacob writhes on the ground. He hears a sickening crunch as the man’s elegant brogues connect with his lower rib cage. He tries to tuck and protect himself, but someone else from the car must have joined the fun. Jacob can’t protect everything. _If I can hang on to one of them, keep the car here. Maybe the cops will come?_ He throws his arms around the nearest man’s shins and hangs on, a nuisance at best. The giant grabs Jacob’s hair, pulling his head back, before landing a left hook on Jacob’s jaw. He sees stars and nothing else as he collapses back to the ground. 

_________________________________

The first location is a bust for Duncan. _No sign of the asshole_. He speeds off on his motorcycle toward the second location. 

He reaches the crowded street and spies an expensive, completely out-of-place, vintage Jaguar stopped toward the middle of the block. There’s a crowd of people in a ring on the sidewalk and a farmer and a pickup truck, blocking the car’s way. He walks the bike up on the edge of the sidewalk as he heads toward the commotion. A place like this, especially in this part of Mumbai, will be safe enough from police and witnesses, no matter how many are standing around. The edge of the crowd draws back, thinking him one of the transient drug dealers on their bikes as he gets closer. He climbs off the bike, leaning it off to the side, against the fence, and tears off his helmet. Something animalistic shows in his face as the crowd soundlessly parts to let him through. He hears the unmistakable sound of heavy blows on flesh and the curses of the two men beating a man senseless on the sidewalk. 

Duncan draws his kukri and from behind, hamstrings the left leg of the giant, who shrieks as he collapses. _Take out the biggest threat first._

Stine angrily raps on the window and makes a hurry-up motion to his men, struggling to contain the child in his arms.

Duncan glances up when he hears the noise on the window and sees a tiny hand slap ineffectually against the glass. Stine’s deliberately using a child as a meat shield. As if on cue, Duncan’s instantly reminded of a hit gone wrong, based on bad intel. The set up is the same. He’s outside on the street, firing away at a car. Blood everywhere. His bloody hand scrambling at the door handle, someone from inside struggling to keep the door shut. A child on the back seat, holding her dying brother in her arms, her mother, father, and driver all dead by Duncan’s hands. It’s the only hit of his that haunts his dreams, even all these years later. He never wants to be in that situation again. He can’t take his target out here. Not like this. 

While Duncan hesitates, both bodyguards are back in the car. He hears the thud of the car door slamming and sees the blood trail on the sidewalk, leading up to the car door. He’s still got a chance to make this work, though. Distraction works both ways. He bangs on the rear window with one bare hand. Quickly, not wanting to ruin the deadly edge of his knife, he sheaths it efficiently. He distracts the men in the car by making as much noise as he can. He fiddles with the lock of the trunk with one hand, while he grabs something from his pocket with the other. He leans over the trunk, deftly moving one of his hands under the vehicle, unnoticed by the men in the car. 

The bodyguard in the front seat pulls his gun, intending to put a bullet in Duncan’s head before being cuffed in the head by the giant sitting next to him, gesturing madly. _Inept,_ thinks Duncan before he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. From his vantage point, he sees the child in the back seat, sink his teeth into Stine’s hand, and admires him for his spirited attitude. 

The driver’s side window comes down, and a gunshot pierces the cacophony, the gun aimed in the air above the obstruction in front of the Jaguar. At the noise of the gunshot, the crowd around Duncan shrieks and scatters. It’s only by good fortune that no one is injured. With more room to maneuver, the driver puts the car in reverse, obviously intending to run him down. 

Duncan rolls off to the side, making himself less of an obvious target. The car keeps coming in his direction. He hops up, grabbing the back edge of the trunk near the rear windshield, flattening himself down on the trunk as the driver turns the wheels, moving the back end of the car into the middle of the street, then aiming for the sidewalk. As the vehicle moves forward, the front tires bump up and over the sidewalk while Duncan jumps off the vehicle. 

The car nearly misses the small group of people gathered around the injured man. With the sidewalk ahead immediately cleared of pedestrians and enough space to get around the obstacle, the Jag rolls back into the street. The car glides forward, reaching the end of the corner before, in a squeal of tires, rounding the corner to the right. 

Before Duncan can go back to get his bike and give chase, he’s close enough to the injured man to hear him moan as he’s jostled accidentally by someone in the crowd as they run away. Something in the man’s voice, either in timbre or pitch, is familiar. He knows he shouldn’t, but he has to know. _Could it be?_ Looking up at the gate, he sees the orphanage sign, and that cements all the pieces in place for Duncan. He looks around, checking the thinning crowd for any movement toward them.

By now, an older Hindu woman is cradling the fallen man and crying out in Hindi for assistance. She must know him. She’s pallid and shaking as she gently takes his bloody hand in hers and bends over him.

Jacob's eyes flutter open at the touch of her hand, and he croaks, “Pramod. The bastard’s got my boy.” 

As the man speaks, Duncan recognizes his dance partner from the wedding. With the man's face swelling, the cuts and bruises, he can't say the same for easy facial recognition right now. 

He kneels down across from the woman, and he can see she is suspicious, from the uncomplicated narrowing of her eyes. No subtlety in that, or her desperation to help the man they both are beside. She says,“I saw what you did, trying to stop his attacker and the car. Can you watch over him while I get a doctor? I can’t leave him like this.” She gestures around at the empty sidewalk, nervous but having no other option but to trust this stranger. 

Duncan nods, unable to say no even though every instinct is telling him to hurry. She thanks him, and stands quickly, before crossing the street and running to the neighborhood clinic. 

While she’s gone, Duncan checks Jacob quickly for injuries, mostly broken ribs, contusions, and possibly a concussion along with sprain here or there. He bends low over Jacob.

“You? Am I hallucinating?” Jacob painfully whispers.

Duncan nods. “Yes, it’s me.” He looks at Jacob and says firmly, “ I can help”

“How...how can you help? You’re a...whatever it is you are —a businessman.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know first aid. Let me see,” Duncan checks his ears for bleeding and sees no obvious warning signs in Jacob, but he doesn’t want to leave him until there are people to help him off the street. 

Jacob focuses all his energy on Duncan, looking him straight in his eyes. “I’m not important. Can you call the police?”

Duncan holds up a finger, silencing Jacob and pulls out a phone, dialing a number. Someone picks up, and Duncan says, "Tracker chip is active."

"Well, Hello to you too. I've got it up now. Moving pretty fast out of town, heading east on Route 348 towards his country home."

"Thanks," says Duncan. He hangs up and slips the SIM card out of the phone, breaking it in two before dropping the halves down an open sewer drain beside him. Quickly replacing the card, he pockets the phone. Duncan sees Jacob’s eyes flutter, bends low to murmur in his ears, “I'll get the boy back for you if it's possible.”

Far sooner than he dared hope, the woman returns, out of breath, and with a doctor beside her carrying a rod and canvas stretcher.

Duncan watches them carry Jacob through the courtyard and into the main building somewhere. There is nothing he can do for Jacob except to do his job.

Retrieving his helmet, he starts up his bike and turns eastward toward his target. His last job was turning out far more challenging than he ever thought was possible.


	5. Confrontation

Even though Stine has a head start, traffic is congested this time of day with commuters heading home. The easy maneuverability of the bike, along with several judicious shortcuts, allows him to make up significant mileage. He tracks Stine for over an hour through the streets of Mumbai, keeping enough distance so that he is not spotted. It is easy enough to do with the sheer amount of motorcycles on the roads. Even if he is perhaps a little conspicuous in his helmet, he’s been given a fast bike but not so flashy that it attracts attention. He tried to keep focused; he's a professional after all, but everyone has a particular job that gets under their skin. For Duncan, there’s only one that gives him nightmares. He keeps thinking of the bloodbath in the car from years ago. It’s the thought of the kid, vulnerable in the backseat that triggers it now. He can’t stop seeing the little hand on the window. He pushes the thought away as he focuses on the drive.

He can see now they are on the outskirts of the city. The dirt road has widened, and there are fewer people on bikes and trucks. He needs to stay a bit further back now as he weaves his way in and out of cows, goats, and people. Just enough of a distance, so he is not seen. He can see the car as it creates a dust cloud speeding down the road. Duncan hopes Stine at least does not know he is being followed. 

His phone pings, and with a switch, he routes it through his helmet. _Something to be said for technology_. He grunts in answer and listens to the updated intel. It seems that Stine has a relatively newer business associate, someone in the States, who’s recently been picked up and charged with several serious federal offenses. In return for a reduced sentence, the associate is willing to name connections. In the past eight months, Stine’s invested a majority of his available capital in risky real estate transactions. One of Stine’s employees let something slip to someone they shouldn’t and wound up missing major body organs. This was around the time of the wedding and the reason for his hasty flight. In order to stave off financial and personal ruin, under the guise of professional blackmail, Stine has had to expand into less savory activities under an accelerated timeline. And it seems he took considerable personal objection to a Mr. Jacob Pederson in the process. 

Duncan asks, “Do you have what I asked for?”

“Transmitting now.”

Duncan grunts as the connection cuts off. Trying to stay ahead of the federal government as well as other nefarious well-established organizations explains why Stine is making less than ideal business choices and incurring more risk. 

Another hour passes, the people and traffic are lessened now as the afternoon shadows lengthen and the air becomes oppressive. The car makes a sudden left turn off the dusty road and stops. Duncan can see, when driving past, the gates closing behind the Jag as it disappears inside. Duncan pulls to the side of the road, hidden by an avenue of Banyan trees, and gets off the bike. It will be impossible to take the bike down there without being seen, even if he kills the guard. 

He takes out his binoculars to check the security setup and coverage. Everything seems quiet. Opening the saddlebag with his weapons, he loads up quickly. He grabs extra ammo putting them in two concealed pockets in his jacket. He hides two guns on his person and carries one in his hand. He still has his kukri sheathed on his back but accessible. He pulls a garotte from the saddlebag and tucks it in his jacket pocket. He slips a knife into his boot, grabs the last item from the saddlebags, tucking it into an interior pocket in his jacket... _Loaded for bear, as Vivian would say._ Deflecting any further thoughts, he pushes the bike into the bush, hiding it as best as he can from the road, all the while checking the area. 

The gate luckily only extends to the road, probably relying on remoteness as a deterrent. He stays parallel to it and makes his way through the high grass. It is hard going and seems to take forever. He can see the car parked in front of the main building now. Nothing’s moving in the late afternoon heat. He makes his way forward to a secluded vantage point sheltered by a large Clerodendrum hedge that stretches across the lawn. He can put up with the offensive smell of the foliage as it discourages snakes. One less thing for him to worry about, which is good, especially since the parameters of the job have shifted. It’s entirely his fault.

He’s got an extra concern about this job now. 

The boy. 

Once he’s in place, he checks for CCTV cameras along the roofline. So far, everything aligns with what his intelligence has relayed to him. There are only a few guards on the perimeter, though. He takes out his small binoculars and checks the roof. No one’s up there. _Sloppy._ He checks his watch. Two more hours until sundown. He really hopes the boy can make it until then because Duncan is going to need the cover of darkness to do this. 

Normally, Duncan’s only focused on the target, everything, everyone else is expendable. Now, he can’t afford to have the child be collateral damage. By pledging to Jacob to get the child back, he’s automatically limited his options. He’s a bit more invested in the outcome. He pushes the concerns aside. He pulls out the jammer he picked up from Aarav. While he waits, he’s got time to access their systems and set up the video loop, which will allow him to bypass their security system. Once the connection’s been established and the video loop’s transmitting, Duncan relays the geographical coordinates of the device to Magpie’s clean up crew who will come in afterward at a prearranged signal and clean all traces of his presence from the grounds. 

He circles back toward the gatehouse, lies flat on the ground, and watches, waiting for night. In his head, he reviews blueprints, layouts of the building. Stine even allowed Architectural Digest to come through to do a feature on the remodeling of the home, so Duncan’s exhaustive research accessed those high-resolution photographs as well. He knows where the cameras are and, more importantly, where they aren’t. He suspects he knows where the kid is. That’s the only unknown variable that matters now.

Finally, darkness descends, and Duncan makes a move, slowly stretching his legs, waking the muscles up before getting to his feet, and taking a deep breath. He feels a twinge from his hip, reminding him he’s not as young as he once was. He’s glad that he had the replacement done, but that doesn't mean that his joints are entirely without complaints, especially ones he feels after laying unmoving for so long. He continues his sequence, moving carefully, knowing it's all about preparation. Better than having his leg give out at a crucial point later on.

Once he’s limber, he slips a pair of gloves on, and he’s ready. A guard from the house, his feet crunching on the gravel, relieves the gatehouse guard who climbs onto his moped and leaves the compound, his engine sputtering and farting down the road into town. According to Aarav’s intel, he won't be back until mid morning, his shift over. 

Duncan waits fifteen minutes just to be sure, before creeping up behind the replacement and snapping his neck, when he stepped outside the gatehouse to take a piss. He doesn’t need to worry about the camera with the jammer in place. He hides the body in the culvert on the side of the drive. 

Staying off the gravel driveway, he keeps to the grass, slinking his way through the shadows towards the house. The guard out front is murmuring on his cell phone while smoking a cigarette, not paying attention as he should. Careless and overconfident. Duncan recognizes him as the bodyguard who helped to beat up Jacob and drove the Jaguar here. 

Duncan knows how to creep up unseen, slipping behind him, slitting his throat. Keeping the dwindling arterial spray away from him, he moves the body quickly and quietly behind some shrubberies so it won't be immediately seen. He feels an odd sense of professional satisfaction in this kill. He shouldn’t feel anything. The man was nobody. An image of Jacob’s bloody battered face comes to mind. It’s a way for him to get killed, lose focus, dangerous behaviors, stupid, reckless ones. He exhales sharply and pushes it all away, emptying his mind, before making his way round the corner of the building. There’s a library built, primarily for show, with excellent egress. That’s where he heads for now.

He learned from his intelligence gathering when Stine redecorated, his designer had decided to put in as many floor-to-ceiling windows along the west and back sides of the house as possible to take in the spectacular views. What he neglected to do was to increase the security cameras relying on the remote location instead. With the sultry evening, every window is wide open. 

Duncan pauses, briefly, to ascertain that the room is empty. He moves out of sight against a bookcase and reviews floor plans in his head. He knows the only rooms upstairs are bedrooms and bathrooms. The IT/security hub is just across the hallway from where he is now. The room next to this one is Stine’s business office. This hallway exits into a large entrance hall, leading to the front door, the staircase upstairs, and the open kitchen/combination dining room. Satisfied that he knows where he’s located within the house, he crosses to the library door and opens it slightly, listening for any conversations, any footsteps. 

There’s no movement in the hallway, and Duncan slips into security headquarters. There’s only one guard sitting with his back to the door, watching the monitors. A floorboard creaks as Duncan steps forward into the room. He freezes. 

“Did you bring-” says the guard turning his head to the right to look behind him. Instantly, Duncan’s behind him, snapping his neck, cutting off any further noise. He hides the body in the storage closet across from the monitor station. Duncan crosses to the monitors to see if Stine has updated his system, to see if he can find the boy anywhere on them. Nothing. He only sees playback of Magpie’s digital deceptions, security loops playing the same non-threatening, banal videos repeatedly. There is no security camera set up for the back yard area and no security cameras inside the mansion. Duncan cuts the phone cable at the wall before leaving the room and closing the door.

He’s back in the hallway and turns to his right to head for Stine’s office. He stops outside the office and tries the door. Predictably, it’s locked. He needs to leave the office for last and decides to check upstairs for the boy. He looks down the hallway which opens into a large entrance hall. From what he can see, it’s got marble floors, a high ceiling with an ostentatious chandelier, pillars, and opulent, impractical furniture. 

He checks the entryway and sees to his left a doorway leading into a lavish gourmet kitchen/combination dining room. He hears a clatter of pots and pans along with the sound of someone giving orders for drinks and appetizers. There’s a cacophony of at least three different voices arguing about bets over a recent sports game that follows him up the stairs. _Must be the security detail._

He takes advantage of the noise and moves quickly upstairs. He startles a guard coming out of the bathroom, and he’s easily dispatched with a silencer to the ear. Duncan catches him, so the body dropping doesn't alert anyone else and shoves him into the tub after wrapping his head in a towel. He shuts the door and, after a quick search, discovers the rest of the upstairs is empty. 

He can hear the sounds of the party out back. A careful look out a window gives him a decent view of part of the backyard from this vantage point. He sees a large pool and a bar area, as well as several loungers. He looks for coverage, vantage points for attack. He sees one thing that will help him. Stine’s landscaper provided an excellent opportunity for coverage just to the left of the office window, a large Ashoka tree. The whole place is lit up with outdoor lighting and music playing from hidden speakers. Unfortunately, his quarry is not alone, as there are two equally abhorrent looking men drinking and snorting lines of coke at the bar. A young woman and man dressed in swimwear, walk around serving drinks and carrying trays of appetizers. Stein and his guests openly fondle the youngsters as they serve. Duncan feels his stomach clench. Seeing the behavior below, even if Jacob hadn’t asked him, he would free the boy. 

He’s checked out the downstairs except for the kitchen, which he’ll bypass. There’s only the locked office for him to check. There’s got to be another hiding place that he hasn’t seen. He’ll reconnoiter from Stine’s office. He checks the stairs and entryway for any threats before heading down the stairs. 

He’s just walking past a well-camouflaged door under the stairs when he hears the “snick” of a door handle turning. A man, obviously security, attempts to leave. Duncan lunges at him, covering his mouth with his hand and shoving him back in the powder room. Closing the door, Duncan hits him in the upper arm, up by his bicep, hitting a pressure point. The man’s arm goes numb. Duncan hits him in the head, enough to rattle him, stunning him. Duncan catches him as he goes down, hanging on to him with one arm. With the other, he lifts the lid and toilet seat and shoves the man’s head underwater, flushing the toilet. It takes two minutes for the man to drown. Duncan pulls towels off the towel rack and drops them on the floor to mop up as much water as possible. He looks under the sink and sees a twelve-pack of toilet paper. He rips the top of the plastic open and upends the whole stack in what water remains: it will act as a wick, soaking up more water. 

As he peers to check to see if the coast is clear, he catches a glimpse of the back of a security guard who’s turned into the hallway, probably heading to the IT office. The chef is haranguing one of the servers, his voice carrying into the entryway.

Duncan uses the cacophony as cover, masking his footsteps as he hurries after the security guard. He pulls out his silencer, aims, and shoots, killing him with a headshot before he has a chance to turn around. Duncan pulls him into the IT office, shoving him behind the door, so he’s hidden if someone opens the door.

In moments, he’s back in the hallway, standing by the office door without anyone detecting him. He takes out his lock picks and, in less than fifteen seconds, has the door open. Closing it and locking it behind him, he hears Stine’s awful laugh mixed in with muffled music from outside on the veranda. His lips thin at the sound. This is the only room on this side of the house where the French doors have been closed as a minimum attempt at security measures. 

He stops to reconnoiter, carefully pulling back a tiny section of curtain to look out on the terrace. He has a better view of the servers, and they are even younger than they appeared from upstairs. Both look underage and glassy-eyed. Stine and the two men at the bar haven’t moved. He sees another structure, an unguarded pool house, opposite from the bar, across the far end of the pool. The kidnapped boy must be in there. _It’s too soon for the boy to be on show, poolside. He’s got to be drugged._ He remembered how the boy fought back. He won’t be docile. _Stine wants him all to himself at first._ Duncan sees two guards on the edge of the terrace. They must have come from the kitchen after finishing their coffee. Unsure whether they are for Stine or his guests. It doesn’t matter. He suspects one more guard in the kitchen, which leaves, in total, at least three guards, possibly one kitchen staff, for him to dispatch.

The only thing different here is the presence of the child. Ordinarily, he doesn’t have to worry about collateral damage. As long as he stays away from the pool house and prevents anyone from entering it, the boy should be safe. If the boy weren’t involved, Duncan would be able to be more ruthless. He could take out all three of the people by the bar immediately, unconcerned about information gathering. But that’s not what he’s dealing with tonight. He’s not used to having his thoughts revolving around the kidnapped boy. It’s not the first time tonight that it’s happened. He’s got to stop this. He’s so close to finishing this. Any distraction will get him injured or worse, killed.

Shoving the thoughts away, he reassesses what he knows, reviewing his plans, thinking about all the variables. Stine and his two guests are all inebriated. They are wonderfully lit up with all those lights. Perfect targets. He is pretty sure the glassy-eyed girl and boy would scatter once he started shooting. The large tree outside the window will provide ample cover for him. He’s still not sure if the others are armed or if there is a weapon behind the bar. He doesn’t want to find out the hard way. He needs to take out the guests quickly. 

Plans in place, Duncan tries the French door, but it's locked. He curses his luck and assesses what he knows about the man he’s going to kill. As sloppy as Stine has been about security here, Duncan knows one thing. Stine wouldn’t leave a key out in the open. He opens the desk drawers hoping there might be a key. Nothing. He looks behind the curtains, where he sees a small key hanging on a hook. Grabbing it, he tries it in the French door, which unlocks. He’s not concerned about noise as the music will mask any sound he makes exiting the window. Before he enters the garden, he takes out the spent cartridges out of his gun, slips them in his pocket, and reloads. _Best to have a full chamber._

Keeping behind the Akosha tree, he takes stock of the various bottles and items on the bar, checking again for any weapons. He listens to the continuing diatribe from the three men, the gentle rustle of the plants in the breeze, and the buzz of crickets. Good, no one’s noticed him. Knowing the shadows here hid him well enough, he let out another breath, steady as his heartbeat, before he moves. 

Firing from cover, Stein's two companions are deleted in rapid succession, one through his eye and the other in the back of the head as he's bent over a slate with lines of cocaine. The drug flies into the air like confectioners sugar as Duncan moves swiftly from his hiding place. He grabs Stein with one hand shoving him up against the bar and jabs his thumb in his chest above Stine’s heart, pressing in on a major pressure point. Stine sags, groaning in pain, his whole body curling up in reflex. Duncan pulls him upright, but before he can question him, chaos erupts. 

The girl screams and tries to run back into the house, but she crosses one of the bodyguard’s sight lines as he’s aiming at Duncan. She goes down suddenly, a shot to her head. The boy panics, throws his drinks tray in the air and bolts. The second guard, spooked by the movement, fires reflexively, hitting him in the chest and down he goes. At the noise, the last guard runs out of the patio doors from the kitchen. He must be new to the job because looking around at all the bodies, promptly vomits into a potted plant. _At least I don’t have to worry about that one right now. It will take him a while to get his courage up._

Duncan sees all the collateral carnage and hates it. _Sloppy, reckless amateurs. Got to make sure no one heads to the pool house. First things first, though._ At least all the remaining security are accounted for and visible, which is how Duncan prefers it.

He grabs Stine from behind in a chokehold pressing the still hot barrel of the silencer against his temple. He allows the man to gasp out, shuddering breaths. Two bodyguards are advancing on Duncan. “Are they yours?” he asks Stine. 

Stine nods his head yes. 

At a movement from the bodyguards, Duncan says, “I’ll kill him.” They look at Stine, who waves for them to stop. They do not lower their weapons, though.

“Stay there,” Stine orders, and they hover uneasily, trigger fingers twitching. “What do you want?”

“The kid. The one you took today.” Duncan says, pressing the barrel harder against Stine and tightening the hold. 

Stine sputters and coughs.“Why the fuck do you care? Just take the money and coke.”

Duncan squeezes harder around Stine’s neck. “Tell me where he is.”

“No! You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Duncan stays silent and moves the gun from Stine’s temple to his left foot, aiming at his toes and shoots. Stine screams and would have fallen to the ground if not for Duncan’s arm around the man’s abused throat. The guards remember who pays their salary and move in closer. One of them manages to be daring enough to get a shot off, hitting Duncan, grazing the muscle in his shoulder, hoping he’ll drop Stine. Duncan’s been through worse. He’s pretty sure the bullet didn’t go through him, so he’s not too worried about blood loss. 

He listens to the gasps of the monster in his chokehold and thinks about nudging his foot, just to get the man to focus. He barely touches the tip of his boot against Stine’s shattered foot and listens to the piece of shit howl. Duncan waits there, stoic and attentive, as Stein thrashes, snarling and sobbing. Stine provides a needed distraction to the guards, and Duncan takes the opportunity to slip the gun into his hip holster. He will make sure Stine is the last one alive, only the corpses of those he surrounded himself with remain. Perhaps Stine, too, will be pleased to escape by the time Duncan is done with him. 

He reaches his arm over his right shoulder and unsheaths his kukri, showing Stine, who reflexively tries to move his feet to shift away from the dangerous edge, causing the bleeding man to shriek. Duncan lets Stine go around his throat but grabs hold of his hair, forcing him upright. Stine leans on the bar for some stability and to avoid putting weight on his injured foot. 

“Tell me now, or I start cutting parts off.” He says and moves the knife to Stine’s crotch under the panicking man’s balls and presses up. The fabric purrs as it rips.

“Fuck! Okay, you fucker! He’s in the pool house. I’ll get you for this, you bastard!”

Duncan can feel his shoulder is bad, but he is used to pain, so he ignores it. He hits Stine in the head hard enough with the hilt of the knife to knock the man out, watching the way his head hits the bar on the way down to the ground, along with the graceful way his nerveless arms sweep across the bar, knocking bottles, glasses, and other detritus to the ground. In the time that Stine falls to the ground, Duncan’s so deft with his weapons; it only takes him a moment to resheath his kukri.

Thinking him harmless, two of the men circle around him, their knives drawn. He reaches down to his boot and pulls the blade of his second knife free, hiding it along his arm. He ducks, avoiding wild swing from the nearest henchman and shoves the small knife into the guy’s eye socket, killing the man instantly. He attempts to retrieve it, but it grates on bone and sticks in place, so he kicks the man away and leaves him to fall, a bottle crunching underneath the body. 

The second man goes green and pukes into the pool, partially turning away from Duncan. He takes the opportunity given to him and pulls the garotte from his pocket, slips it around the man’s neck, and crosses his hands in an “X” behind the man’s neck, hissing in pain at his shoulder, feeling the blood flow down his arm with exertion. He nearly decapitates the man, letting him drop forward into the pool, pulling the garotte with him. _Two down. Where the fuck is number three?_

Out of the darkness, comes the last man, moving as fast and deadly as a snake, the kind that bites, and you fall down dead five steps later. Duncan thinks of the kid and goes for his gun. He gets it out of the holster and aims. The only trouble is, out of reflex, he’s used his bad arm. He’s slower, and the man kicks it out of his nerveless fingers as it goes sailing into the pool. 

“Got you now, old man.” grins the thug. 

Duncan conserves his breath but thinks _The fuck you do._ He’s got one more gun, just six more bullets between him and death. A knife slashes his injured arm, up near his shoulder, and he hisses. _Stop daydreaming! The kid needs you._ Duncan tries a nerve pinch, and the man howls, dropping his knife. _That’s better._ He draws his gun and wings the man, grazing the side of his head instead of sending the bullet in his brain. 

That’s when the chef comes out of the house, yelling and brandishing a carving knife. _What the?_ Duncan twirls away, but not before the man slashes him across his cheek. The last bodyguard, blood dripping from his head wound, is angry enough to get in close and decides to use his fists. Duncan feels a blow across his back, right over a kidney. He whirls up and away from the man’s reach. He shoots him in his obese gut, and he goes down, scrambling at his abdomen, trying to hold himself in. 

The chef thinks better of attacking the killer in front of him, drops the knife, and makes a run for the inside, no doubt running either for the car or the phone. Duncan can’t allow him to reach either and drops him with a shot to the neck. The man collapses, clutching his throat. Duncan staggers upright, breathing heavily and looks around. 

He sees the wounded man sitting in the middle of the grass surrounded by sparkles of broken glass. Deciding to have a bit of fun, just because of the effort he’s been put to this evening, he walks over to the chef and picks up the knife, testing its edge and grins. 

He turns back to the man in the grass and bends over the broken figure briefly. The man reaches up and sticks his index finger in Duncan’s bullet hole and digs in. Duncan yells and turns toward his right to deal with the annoyance, giving the thug the left side of his face. It’s an unintended opening. The thug takes it and stabs Duncan in his left eye with a shard of glass. Duncan cries out and pulls away, enough to dislodge whatever the man stuck him with. His face is on fire, and his eye’s a ruined mess, sending throbs of pain into his skull with every pulse beat.

Before he can do anything else, Duncan feels a sharp pain in his leg. He looks down. He’s been stuck with probably the same fucking piece of glass in the side of his leg. It’s not close enough to be dangerous to anything like his femoral artery, but it’s a definite annoyance. _Right. That’s my fault. Now you pay._ The effort of sitting up and continuing to attack Duncan is too much for his assailant who’s fallen back onto the grass, his hands scrambling for purchase on anything, another weapon, or his exposed abdomen. It makes little difference which. 

Duncan leans over the quietly sobbing man, seeing his death in Duncan’s eye. He gently pulls his bloody hands away and makes a thin cut across his lower abdomen. The skin parts and his insides threaten to slip out. It was an incredibly sharp knife. Duncan takes an exposed dangling loop of intestine in his hand and decides to get creative for the loss of his eye. He shoves the carving knife through the intestine and drives it deep into the grass, impaling the man in place. The man shudders and goes instantly into shock. He none too gently rolls the man across the lawn on the way to the pool, unspooling him as he goes before kicking him into the water where the dying man sinks to the bottom. 

He makes his unsteady way to the pool house. The door is locked, so he grabs one of the nearest potted plants and hurls it at the locked patio door, which breaks into a million glass pieces. _Thank goodness for safety glass._ Duncan steps over it, kicking as much of his was as he can. Inside he can see the kid is tied up and shivering in the corner. The boy looks out of it, drugged up on something. Duncan swears and makes his way over to him, untying his hands. He checks his pulse and pupils. The kid should be okay, but Duncan needs to get the boy out of here as soon as he can. 

“Jacob sent me, kid. I’m here to take you home.” He can’t be sure the kid hears him, but it makes him feel better to say it. 

Duncan wraps him carefully in a blanket, making sure the head is covered so the boy can’t see anything. He doesn’t need to see the carnage outside or his ruined face. He hauls him up, wincing in pain as he does. _Thank goodness, the kid’s skinny._ He makes his way outside again and looks at Stine, unconscious, prone on the ground, blood pooling around his injured foot.

He wants to get the boy as far as he can from Stine, away from the carnage, before he finishes his task. He’s not sure how much the boy heard of the gunfight, but it’s suddenly important to Duncan to protect the child from any more bloodshed, no matter how indirect. He tries to be quick as he can getting the boy inside the house. He leaves him bundled by the partially-open front door and turns around to head back outside. He saw something useful the chef dropped on the floor on the way to the veranda. He picks up the Wusthof meat cleaver and makes his way back to the veranda to Stine. He picks the bleeding man up by his tie and slaps the piece of shit awake. Stine looks at him blearily before sputtering out threatening words that Duncan has no intention of allowing Stine the opportunity to follow through with.

“I’ll kill you, the boy and Jacob. Slowly. You first, then the boy and Jacob, that bleeding heart.”

“No. You won’t. I really don’t want to listen to you any longer.” Duncan says as he takes the cleaver and completes what he threatened before, castrating the dying man, covering his mouth to cut off his scream. Stine goes into shock immediately, and Duncan drops the knife. It is a quicker, kinder end than he planned, but he didn’t have the time for anything more extravagant. He doesn’t want to leave the kid longer than he needed to. 

He slides a bit on the grass as he walks into the house, his leg giving him problems now, not caring of the blood trail he’s leaving. Leg dragging, he makes his way into the huge entryway and pulls the blanket with the kid inside across the marble floor. He’s out of strength to lift the boy but protects his head as he pulls him down the front steps to the car, heedless of who hears him after all the recent commotion. The car is waiting outside. There is no way he can get back to the bike with the boy, not the way his leg is, let alone drive it. He slows down, his brain foggy. 

There’s one more piece, one last thing. He breathes deeply, the rush of oxygen helping. _Like cleaning your knife before you sheath it._ His head clears, and he makes the connection between his thought and what he must do. _Call Magpie to clean up._ He punches in the prearranged signal, letting it ring twice, knowing that Aarav will send a team on their way. They will pick up the bike and the jammer and sweep the house and grounds, clearing any traces he left behind. 

That task done, all he needs to do now is leave. It feels like hours have passed, but he knows from experience, it’s just a few minutes. Time elongates with loss of blood. Conserving his energy, he leaves the bundled boy on the gravel as he tries the car door. 

He thanks fate as it opens quietly. He finds a blanket in the back seat and wraps the boy in it, placing the kid on the floor in between the front and back seats. He doesn’t have the strength to lift the boy into the passenger seat. This way, if he makes a sudden stop, the kid won’t roll off the back seat. He closes the door and leans on the car as he moves around to the driver’s side. He opens the door, pulling down the driver’s sun visor, and the car keys drop into his hand. _Come to papa._

A wave of pain ripples through him as he accidentally nudges his bad leg as he shifts slightly while he slides the key in the ignition switch. Before he turns the key to the car on, he opens the glove compartment to look for any aspirin, pain meds. Nothing. He’s going to have to tough it out for as long as he can.

His hands shaking, he grabs the wheel with one hand, slamming the door closed with the other. He turns the key, takes the car out of park, and thanks all the forgotten saints that the vehicle is an automatic and not a manual. The engine purrs to life, and Duncan grunts as he shifts into drive, knowing a controlled start before a rapid acceleration is best for the gravel surface. 

Opening the console between the seats, finding the remote control, he presses the button, and the gate opens silently. He briefly fishtails on the dirt road and gets it under control as he turns right onto the main road, heading back to the orphanage. _I hope I can stay awake long enough to get there._ He’s concerned about blood loss and pain management. He knows he’s in a bad way but determined to get the boy to safety. He tries to put as much distance as he can between him and the carnage he left behind.

As he drove, he knew he was beginning to fade. His thinking was foggy, and all he wanted to do was pull off the road and sleep. To concentrate and stay focused, he tried to estimate how much blood he'd lost. He could feel it leaving him in small amounts but leaving him all the same. He hadn’t removed the glass shard as it was one of the reasons he’s still functioning, albeit barely. 

The next thing he realizes is his eyes blink open. His brain fights to process what he sees through the windshield. In the seconds that he dozed, the car veered, crossing over the middle line, heading into the opposite lane, heading right for a telephone pole. He swears under his breath and swerves the wheel back to the right, biting the inside of his cheek as his injured leg jostles. There’s a noise from the boy, but Duncan can’t pay attention to him now. He struggles to get the car under control and breathes heavily. The adrenaline will keep him awake for a few more miles. 

He rolls down the window, hoping the air will help to keep him focused. He hears the morning birdsong and looks at the sky. Dawn will be here soon. He wonders if he can manage to drive and navigate in the city. His eyes nearly close again a few miles further down the road. He knows he can’t go any further without killing both of them. He manages to pull over to the side of the road. He can’t get out of the car, walking is impossible. Maybe he can open the passenger door and crawl out of the vehicle. He turns the key, and the car shuts off. He puts the car in park and leans over to the right, reaching for the door latch. He opens the door on the third try. He shifts to move out of the driver’s seat, to crawl across to the door and as quick as that, between one breath and another, he's gone.


	6. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishafisha has posted lovely art for this chapter! Please go immerse yourself! It’s amazing!

When Duncan wakes, he’s no longer in the car, his hands no longer gripping the wheel. Everything hurts, and the sun is in his eye. A grandfatherly farmer is speaking frantically in Hindu at him, and the kid is chattering away. Duncan manages to say “Jacob,” before passing out. 

____________________________

The next time he wakes up, he hears the sound of water dripping into a metal basin. He moans and opens his parched mouth, unable to get his vocal cords to work, his brain to form any word, but water. He doesn’t recognize the man’s voice speaking to him but allows a few precious drops of water to slip down his throat before falling unconscious again. 

_______________________________

He drifts in and out of consciousness, sometimes brought out of it by careful hands helping him drink sips of water, or placing a cool cloth on his forehead. He allows himself this time; no flight to catch, no job to handle, only the throbbing pain that rises and falls as if he’s a rowboat on a lake, riding the waves. His priorities change sharply, however, when he hears screams, children’s screams, and jolts upright, adrenaline pumping. His thoughts immediately flash to the kid and Stine. He doesn’t recognize anything in the room he’s in as he looks around for the danger. Something moves in his peripheral vision, and he reacts. His feet hit the dirt floor, and there are more screams and shouting. His head pounds, but he grits his teeth and stands up shakily, the room spinning. He’s dressed only in bandages and a pair of dark grey boxer briefs. He tastes bile but struggles to stay upright. 

The room is set up like a tiny house, a cooking area near the doorway. Everything is tidy and neat even though obviously well worn. The door to the outside is open, allowing the bright sunshine into the cooking area, but the rest of the room is in shadow. Another shadow moves, and he looks up to see children running just outside the doorway. _His accomplices. They made their way here. Trying to steal more children._ The dark thoughts and his anger at finding the children in danger again when he’s still so weak enrage him. He manages to make it staggering to the doorway. 

The sudden sunlight that spears into his eye, blinding and vicious, hiding the raised doorway as he staggers forwards, only to lose his balance on the step and fall hard into the dusty courtyard. He doesn’t hear Jacob’s shout as he runs over, stopping the football game and gently rolls Duncan on his side. Something in the way Jacob touches him, moves him, awakens a sense memory, reminds Ducan of the hands that gave him water and wiped his forehead. These hands are not a threat, do not belong to an enemy. He doesn't lash out.

“Let me look at you. Let’s get you up and back in bed,” murmurs Jacob. Duncan idly thinks he smells turmeric, ginger, and cardamom, other spices that Duncan cannot name and which tickle his nose. But he doesn't smell the distinctive smell of gun oil or the smoke from black powder, which tastes like steam and sulfur with a hint of urine from the saltpeter. He doesn't feel tension in the man as he is turned over and attempted to help stand. Jacob shouldn't be this calm, not if the children are screaming.

“Danger. Danger here.” Duncan wheezes and closes his remaining eye falling unconscious once more. 

______________________

Jacob was not expecting Duncan to be able to get out of bed, let alone out of his room, so he is more than a bit shocked to see the man stumbling outside and falling over the doorstep.

‘Ugh! I was afraid of that,” murmurs Jacob as he catches Duncan as he falls unconscious, his arms underneath Duncan’s chest and his knees.“I’ve got you,” he says more to himself than the man in his arms. He stands up with exceeding care and carries him back inside the house. He lays him down on the bed and sits on the edge of it. Jacob’s fingers gently push away Duncan’s ashen hair from his forehead, away from his bandages. He stands up, walking to the cooking area, grabbing a shallow metal dish.

He pokes his head outside the doorway and shushes a pair of rowdy children by holding a finger across his lips and calls them over with a hand gesture. He speaks with them quietly, asking one to get water from the pump and bring it back quickly, and the other to bring Mrs. Shaw, the closest they have to a nurse. He ruffles their hair and ducks back inside. 

He grabs the package of sterile bandages, medical scissors, and tape and brings them to the small rustic bedside table. He hears a quiet knock and goes to get the water from the young girl, Chandra. Thanking her, he sees Mrs. Shaw on her way and sends the girl out to play quietly. 

Mrs. Shaw steps inside and walks over to the bed, her hand already fishing in her pocket for antiseptic hand cleaner. She cleans her hands and hands the bottle to Jacob, listening as he speaks.

“I need help with his dressing change. He took a bad fall, and I need to see to his leg. He’s got a laceration where he hit it on the way down. See?” He points to Duncan’s left lower leg, where there is a swelling along with a fresh bruise and blood. She nods and gets another clean bowl from the cooking area and brings it over. Dividing the water in two, she waits patiently for Jacob to finish speaking. 

“Duncan,” Jacob says as he notices Duncan coming around again. “Mrs. Shaw and I will fix you up. I need to check your bandages. You fell pretty hard. I can get you some food and something to drink along with your pain pills,” he asks. “Do you remember getting out of bed?”

Duncan grunts in reply, mumbling something unintelligible. He’s torn between telling them to leave him alone and accepting their help, wishing only for the pain in his throbbing head to subside. His hand moves shakily to his face, his fingers reaching for his eye.

Jacob gently pulls Duncan’s hand back down with one hand while he puts his other hand up to his forehead, checking for fever. Duncan flinches and grunts, pulling away. Jacob leans in close, whispering, “Meds are coming.” and watches Duncan swallow a moan.

Jacob’s conflicted. He’s so tempted to stroke the injured man’s cheekbone. He’s not sure where the impulse comes from if it’s anything more than a desire to offer comfort. A habitual instinct with the children, but not something that he suspects the injured man would accept or appreciate. Instead, he pulls back, stepping aside, so Mrs. Shaw can reach Duncan and says, “Mrs. Shaw is very good. Her hands are magic. Let her do her work, and I’ll fix up your leg at the same time.” He cleans his hands with the antiseptic, setting it on the bedside table.

She steps closer, carefully removes the bandages over Duncan’s eye, washes his face, makes sure to clean his eyelids, and is careful not to cross-contaminate the water. 

“I’m just going to touch your leg so I can clean it,” explains Jacob. He’s relieved to see that Duncan’s leg is mostly bruised with just a small laceration from the door jamb. He takes a sterile piece of cotton, wetting it, then dabbing and cleaning the wound. He’s relieved to see that it doesn’t appear to have any embedded dirt after cleaning. Mrs. Shaw finishes winding sterile bandages around Duncan’s head. She cuts off a section of gauze from the roll and hands it to Jacob. He uses a fresh sterile piece of cotton to apply antiseptic ointment to the bandage before he tapes it over Duncan’s abrasion. 

When they’ve finished, she takes both the basin and the bowl, saying, “I’ll bring lunch and some juice on a tray. He’s still too weak to get up. Stay with him, Jacob. I’ll divert the children this afternoon,” she says as she leaves his house.

Jacob nods and sits again on the edge of the bed, unwilling to cause Duncan any more pain. 

Looking back at the man, he sees that one solitary eye looking up at him, looking clearer than before. Perhaps enough to answer a question coherently. "You said danger. What did you mean, Duncan?”

“The screaming woke me up. Then I saw children running. I thought someone from the compound had come back. I wanted to save…” his voice drifts off.

Jacob nods, his usually smiling, gentle countenance gone, “I’m sorry you were woken so abruptly and startled so badly. That’s my fault. It was recess. I should have told them to be quieter out of consideration for you.” He can’t bring himself to express any of the deeper concerns he’s felt over the extent of Duncan’s injuries. 

He continues, “I need to talk to you, Duncan, and I didn’t want anyone else to overhear. Pramod told me about some things, but he’s a child, and sometimes they elaborate. I need to hear the truth. No evasions or obfuscation. No white lies or omissions. Everything.”

He takes a breath and says, “You were brought to the local medical clinic with serious injuries, a gunshot wound, a stab wound which nearly killed you from loss of blood. To say nothing of missing a _fucking_ eye. There were rumors that multiple people, some of them prominent business people, some security personnel and staff, were killed at a huge mansion out in the countryside. It was a bloodbath, rumors of torture, drugs. We heard this from the farmer who found you and Pramod in an expensive Jaguar which belonged to a well-known philanthropist. He and his bodyguards were among the dead.”

Jacob pauses before continuing, “I am telling you this now. If you have come to cause _any_ harm to anyone here at the orphanage, I will put you in jail myself, but not before I take your other eye. Don’t think I can’t do it.” Jacob’s voice is deadly quiet, and his eyes are murderous. 

Duncan examines Jacob's face and seems to believe the conviction, enough at least to answer.

"I have no reason or want to harm anyone here, Jacob," he says as he lies there, pained and exhausted, "He was a wanted man. I was merely there to see those wants met."

Duncan pauses for a moment and meets Jacob's stare, one that had gone from stern to disbelief and horror. It was one thing to guess, perhaps, that something had happened, that the man who had danced with him at the wedding had become embroiled in violence in order to help save Pramod, but it was quite another to know that such a save had not truly been the aim. That murder had been.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I just hit retirement."

The smile is brief, wry, and humorless, and fades before it can fully form. More of a grimace than anything.

There is silence as Jacob stares at Duncan, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, his hands shaking.

Duncan waits. Everything on how his life goes forward hinges on these next few moments. 

There is silence as Jacob thinks about everything Duncan has just told him. All the pieces fit together. He had thought that Duncan must be some kind of gangster. It’s obvious that you don’t turn up with medical field skills, then promise to bring back a kidnapped boy, only to return with injuries that would kill most people and rumors of a bloodbath in your wake, if you aren’t someone who is more than a little versed in violence. He also thinks about what Duncan risked for Pramod, for him. Duncan could have just killed Stine and disappeared, but he didn’t. 

“You saved him. Against all odds, you saved him,” said Jacob. “Have you ever killed children?”

“Only one. Years ago. Still paying for it. I don’t sleep well.”.

Jacob bites his lip and drums his fingers on the bedcovers. “I need to think about this. I need to make sure I’m not putting these kids at risk again. I confess I am furious with myself. I failed to keep Pramod safe. I’ve been a part of his life since birth. His mother, she...didn’t make it. She was one of our girls. I let that predator Stine in, led him right to our doorstep. I am not sure I can ever forgive myself.”

His fingers twitch, and Duncan takes his hand, holding it between both of his, tracing the lines in Jacob’s palms and rubbing a thumb across his knuckles. 

“I think someone like Stine takes his time setting up his victims, Jacob. One could argue the boy isn't the only victim. You are also, albeit indirectly. You aren’t gullible or stupid. He exploited the situation. Left you feeling he was the only choice, didn’t he? Prevented you from exploring other options?” said Duncan, watching Jacob nod his head.

“Stine hid what he was for decades. Even I wasn’t sure until the very end when I arrived on your street what he was truly in Mumbai for. I thought it was gun-running, drugs, smuggling. The only reason he wound up here is because I didn’t manage to get the job done the first time. At the wedding. And Stine ran. No matter what you might think, I take professional pride in my job. I’ve never had someone elude me twice. I’m irritated at having let a mark escape to thereby cause trouble here.”

Jacob listens to everything Duncan says, and he knows it’s true. It must be. After everything Duncan did to get Pramod back, he would be a fool not to believe it. But he also knows that not all of this was Duncan’s fault. He was the naïve one that gave the orphanage to Stine on a silver platter. It wasn’t Duncan who gave Stine all the information he needed to come and take a kid. If it wasn’t for Duncan, Stine could quite possibly have taken more.

“No! I won’t let you take responsibility for that. I was looking for rich philanthropists, and I knew of him and his portfolio of charitable causes. Causes very much like mine. He would have come sniffing around in any case, hunting for the children, sooner or later. I approached him. He had been vetted or so I was told. All the research I did indicated he was a decent man,” Jacob eased his hands out of Duncan’s grip, turning one to clasp the other’s forearm gently. 

“But you weren’t paid to save the boy.” He says, looking at Duncan again and seeing more than just the man behind the gruesome actions, to the one who would save a child because it was asked of him. “You did that for me, Duncan. You lost an eye because of me.”

Duncan holds up a finger, “You don’t get to take the blame for everything, Jacob. I left an opening during a fight. Someone took it. I paid the price for my mistake.” 

Jacob bites his lip, not wanting to argue more but unsure how to override long-standing mental habits. He switches topics instead. “We don’t have the most luxurious accommodations here. But, you’re more than welcome to stay to recuperate, adjust to the loss of your eye. Mrs. Shaw already considers you part of our little community. We could revisit this discussion in a month.”

Duncan thinks about the offer. He could be far more comfortable in some five-star resort. But there’s an underlying unease about the children, about payback for the hit, more attempts at kidnapping. Surprised at his reaction, he nods, “I accept. Shake on it? As gentlemen used to do?”

Jacob laughs, “Yes, as long as you don’t spit in your hand first.” Duncan makes a face at that and puts a hand outstretched for Jacob to shake. 

They shake hands, and Duncan says, “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course, Duncan.” He says, feeling a weight lifted between them.

“Where have you been sleeping?” 

Jacob chuckles.“Outside on a rush mat with some light blankets. The sun wakes me early, earlier than anyone else, and I come in here and wash, make you tea and go over to the main compound to help as I can before classes.”

Duncan pauses before saying, “You can sleep in here. Next to me.”

Jacob suddenly feels a little shy as he feels the heat of a blush creep across his face.“You need your rest.”

“Does the loss of my looks concern you that much?” Duncan says. Jacob can feel his blush deepen as his mind betrays him with the thought that Duncan could never look hideous no matter how badly injured he may be.

Before Jacob can reply, Mrs. Shaw returns with a tray full of small dishes and a large glass of lemon tea. They have no ice, but it is still dripping condensation with the temperature change between the sultry heat and the coolness of the drink. There are two bottles of pills and a capped syringe prefilled with morphine on the tray along with a sealed sterile antiseptic wipe. 

“Mrs. Shaw,” Jacob says, relieved for the moment between himself and Duncan to have been broken. “Thank you for the feast and the tea. I can smell the verbena and mint.”

“Mind you, he takes his time eating. I expect to see all these empty when you bring the tray back.” Mrs. Shaw says, giving Jacob a mischievous smile.

Jacob laughs at the thought. There’s more food here than he can eat, let alone someone who is convalescing. Mrs. Shaw waits while Jacob helps Duncan sit up in bed and pulls out a wooden bed tray, obviously handmade and sets it over Duncan’s lap. Jacob takes the food tray from her and tells her he will bring it back. 

“Don’t rush him, mind you,” she admonishes him laughingly as she exits the house. 

“I suppose I should explain much of our food is vegetarian. We have so many mouths to feed, not to mention the religious restrictions. That doesn’t mean we don’t ever have meat, just not often. Fish we catch in the river, goat, lamb, and chicken on holidays or special events.” He uncovered a round flat dish, “These are freshly-made chapatis. You can wrap food in them, but many of the little ones just use them as shovels.” Duncan suppresses a snort of laughter.

Jacob uncovers each dish, explaining what it is, vegetable korma, spicy fried potatoes crusted with ginger and garlic, cucumber raita, coriander and tomatoes mixed with rice, two kinds of chutney, two kinds of dal, spicy fried chickpeas. The last one, the chickpeas, Jacob hands Duncan the small dish and says, “you should have these first. They’re one of my favorites. We have them mostly on movie night.”

While Duncan eats the salty, deliciously spicy dish, Jacob tells him about how they string up white sheets across the courtyard, high up on the washing lines for screens. Movie nights are once a month, always on Saturday. Jacob had bartered for an old computer laptop, which was only used for movie night. Someone would make an excursion to the downtown library and reserve some Bollywood or Hollywood DVD and bring it back. The children sit on the dirt floor, and Jacob sets up the laptop with two external speakers with extension wires to their meager jury-rigged electrical setup. He loads the disc in the DVD drive, and they are transported for a few hours. Sometimes the movies are so popular that Mrs. Shaw tells their closest neighbors who arrive with popcorn dusted with spices. Or sometimes, someone brings several melons and slices them up. Everyone gets a slice, the sticky juice dripping down their arms and onto bare legs. 

Duncan sits quietly, eating, watching Jacob’s face as he tells him the story. Jacob stops, aware of the silence, suddenly realizing that he’s been rambling on topics Duncan must have no interest in for ages. Duncan doesn’t seem put out, though. He wonders how much of the ease and conviviality around the wedding was an act considering how stoic Duncan is now. Jacob shrugs the thought off, considering the man’s in a lot of pain. If Duncan were genuinely pissed off with him, Jacob’s sure that Duncan could inflict a great deal of harm, which would make the beating Jacob’s still recovering from be similar to a walk in the park. But as fast as the thought pops in his mind, Jacob dismisses it as unbelievable. 

Duncan sets his dish aside and asks what he should have next. Jacob says, “This one, I think. Try some on a chapati, as the little ones do.” Duncan takes his advice and sits eating quietly while Jacob picks up a pill bottle, opens them, one after another, shakes two pills into his hand, and places them on the bed tray. “One’s an antibiotic, and the other is a steroid. This-” he holds up the syringe’”-is for your pain. The pills are best with food. Or I can get you a glass of milk?” 

Duncan glares at him at the suggestion. 

“All right. No milk. Have you finished?”

Duncan nods as he picks up the pills. 

“I’ll get some bottled water for you,” Jacob stands up and crosses over to the kitchen where he pulls out a small bottle from a package under the counter. He walks back to the bed, handing the bottle over and picks up the wipe and the syringe.“Let me give you this shot first. Then, your pills and I’ll take all this away and leave you to get some more rest,” 


	7. Adaptation

Towards the end of that first week, Duncan’s up and around in the compound, Mrs. Shaw coaxes Duncan to come into her classroom “just to introduce him to everyone.” Duncan initially refuses, but she insists. Seeing no way to refuse her, that afternoon, he knocks on the classroom door, wishing he was anywhere else. She ushers him in at the head of the class, saying, “class, this is Mr. Duncan. Please say ‘Namaste’ to him.” 

In unison, the entire class stands up and says, “Namaste, Mr. Dooncun.” Duncan tries not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek, as Mrs. Shaw corrects their pronunciation and has them sit down. 

Pramod raises his hand in the air waving it about just after he’s introduced. Mrs. Shaw calls on him. 

The boy stands up from the table and says, “Mr. Duncan,” Pramod stumbles over his name in his excitement and continues, “We learned today what a hero is. Mrs. Shaw told us about movies and how they’re not real. It’s make-believe. But I tell her that you are better than anybody in Bollywood because you’re real.” 

He says this so earnestly, rushing to the head of the classroom with a piece of paper in his hand. He shoves the paper into Duncan’s hands and clasps him immediately in a hug, looking up at him, a genuine smile on his face.

“You’re better than Superman. You’re my hero.” 

Duncan has no time to look at the picture he’s given before the child buries his head in his left side, just under one of his worst wounds, and hugs him tightly. Duncan suppresses a gasp of pain, blinks a watering eye, and he’s not sure what to do with his hands. Part of him wants to pluck the child away or hug him back. Caught between the two, he settles for patting the boy’s head. It must have been some kind of signal as now he's nearly pushed off his feet, by the rest of the class who press in close, chattering at him, gifting him pictures and hand-made trinkets.

He looks up at Mrs. Shaw, who takes pity on him as he’s being jostled while still recovering. She claps her hands, asking for silence and directing everyone back to their seats immediately. Duncan looks at them all, saying a simple “thank you” in a quiet voice, and explains he’s no hero. That firefighters, teachers and doctors and nurses are. None of them seem to buy it. Mrs. Shaw quietly orders the children to pick up their books, but they chatter excitedly as they proceed. The hubbub causes Jacob to pop his head into the classroom. 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Shaw, I have some things to discuss with your guest speaker.”

Duncan is led out, leaving a chorus of groans and excited chatter in his wake. Jacob takes all the pictures and trinkets in his hands, except for Pramod’s, which is still clutched in Duncan’s. 

“You survived, I see,” Jacob says, his eyes twinkling. 

“Are they always like that?”

“Oh, no. They were on their best behavior for you. Most days, they are much worse.” 

“I need a drink,” Duncan says. 

Jacob chuckles and says, “Here, look at your presents. I’ll be right back.” He leaves the papers next to him, pretending not to see the older man smoothing out Pramod’s picture to study. 

The boy drew a picture of a car crashed into a Banyan tree surrounded by goats and a farmer. Duncan’s bleeding and Pramod’s putting a band-aid on his head. His fingers trace over the child and the band-aid, the goats, and the farmer. He hears the rattle of teacups on a tray and folds the paper carefully, tucking it in his pocket before Jacob arrives. 

Jacob returns with two teas, handing a teacup to Duncan before placing the tray down on his knee. “I can take these over to the house for you. Unless you object?” Duncan gives a short nod, and Jacob sets his teacup down on the bench, gathering up all the papers and trinkets, placing them on the tray, and carries everything back to the house. 

Duncan watches him go, sitting in silence as Jacob comes back, simply content to enjoy the sunshine. Jacob picks up his drink and explains, “I’ve got to get back to class. I’m subbing this afternoon. See you later in the dining hall. Do you need anything before I go?” He watches Duncan for a moment, sees a small shake of Duncan’s head before the bell for the next class sounds, calling him back to class.

That evening, Duncan decides he will start resuming his training and exercises in the morning. He feels out of practice and wants to learn to compensate for his significant blind spot. He’d like to purchase a motorbike for city driving if he’s going to be here long term. Right now, there’s no way he can safely drive the bike in the city, but with some adaptive mirrors and perhaps some tweaking, he might manage in the countryside. He hates considering the limitations that his reduced vision will inevitably have, but, he thinks with a slight downturn on his lips, if he was going to lose part of his vision, retirement was probably the best time to have it happen. He’s subdued that evening and stays inside, going to bed much earlier than usual. 

The next morning, making good on his intentions from the night before, Duncan is in the empty courtyard, empty except for the ever-present chickens and roosters scratching in the dirt. The children are all in classes. Duncan can hear their high-pitched voices reciting numbers, reading aloud passages from books, and answering questions. He pushes everything out of his mind and starts Tai Chi, moving through the sequences, grounding himself, stretching his muscles. His hip, as always, aches when he starts out, and he takes more time with it, rotating it gently to start. By the time he finishes, his muscles are warmed and relaxed, and he moves onto Jiu Jitsu. 

As he continues his modified routines, he’s aware of what’s going on near him. He can also see Mrs. Shaw’s office as her windows are wide open in the pre-monsoon heat. He can hear file cabinet drawers or desk drawers occasionally opened from her office, but it’s relatively quiet compared to the classroom noises. He is aware of Jacob and catches glimpses of him through the classroom window as he works, writing on the blackboard. He hears Jacob’s voice, asking questions about mathematics from one student or another. He’s having to pay far more attention to his vision than he used to. Things like depth perception and distance are still maddeningly short of where he used to be. The active perception checks on Jacob, Mrs. Shaw, the children, and even the chickens and roosters in the yard are essential parts of his retraining. He can’t remember who said a little bit of paranoia is a healthy thing. It seems to be his mantra these days. 

Although he would deny it, Duncan’s getting familiar with some of the children. Well, with some of their voices, being able to put a name to voice for everyone will take a bit longer. But Pramod’s voice he recognizes. He listens to the cadence of the question and answer in Jacob’s class, so when it stops, Duncan notices. It doesn’t impede Duncan’s Jiu Jitsu routine, merely puts a pause in between one movement and another. 

A few minutes later, he hears a pair of bare feet running down the hallway, then turning a corner before running down the covered walkway lining one section of the courtyard. Duncan doesn’t stop what he’s doing, expecting the child to either run through the courtyard on some errand, hopefully, one that doesn't include interrupting him. 

____________________________________

Pramod rushes down the hallway, heading for the courtyard. As he stops by the archway, he looks around for the rooster, which has a tendency to attack and peck at unsuspecting ankles. He hopes it’s not hiding, ready to fly at him in a flurry of feathers, so he can run to the latrine without being attacked. 

As he looks to the left, he sees Duncan performing several odd-looking movements. He looks like he’s doing somersaults, but it’s a type Pramod’s never seen before. The young boy suddenly grins as he realizes his hero must be training! He creeps up behind him, hiding behind him in his blind spot. Pramod keeps absolutely still as he watches Duncan perform forward rollouts and specialized feints always to his left side, his blind side. Getting bolder, the young boy copies his movements as best he can, mimicking the older man, still staying out of sight.

_________________________________

Duncan is focused intently upon his breathing and training. He ignores the boy in back of him as long as he doesn’t get in his way. Any scratching noises behind him, Duncan puts it out of his mind. 

Through the window to Mrs. Shaw’s office, he sees movement in his peripheral vision. His eye flickers up, and he catches a glimpse of Jacob at the window along with Mrs. Shaw, engaged in conversation. He can hear their murmured conversation but is unable to distinguish what’s being said. He ignores them and the boy as best he can. 

He decides to move into a complicated sequence of movements, testing his reflexes and muscle memory, one position flowing into another. Duncan’s on his back now, raising himself up partially, rolling to his left and rotating along his shoulder blade. Back and forth, up and down. Pramod can’t keep up with the complicated sequence and falls flat on his stomach knocking the wind out of himself and groaning. On reflex, Duncan whirls around to see the boy on the ground behind him. 

As Duncan discovers Pramod, Mrs. Shaw leans out the window, and she claps her hands enthusiastically in appreciation. Duncan looks up at her and sees Jacob standing next to her, giving him a silent ‘thumbs up’ sign. 

“You are now in charge of gymnastics class, Mr. Duncan. You can start after lunch, and we will all join you. What are you doing? I haven’t seen that before.”

“I am training, doing Jiu Jitsu. It’s not gymnastics. I can’t teach anyone.”

“Nonsense! You’ve been training Pramod here for quite some time. You’re hired. What other skills do you know?”

Duncan looks to Jacob, who simply holds his hand up at shoulder level and shrugs as if to say ‘no way am I going to tell her no.’

Duncan stands, sweating in the heat, trying to organize a rational defense, some argument against this new development. 

While he’s getting his breath back, Mrs. Shaw asks Pramod if he’s finished what he came out to the courtyard to do. He shakes his head no, and she tells him to hurry up and get back to class. He runs toward the latrine, leaving Duncan alone. 

“I know Judo, Karate, Tai Chi, and Jiu Jitsu. I’m not qualified to teach anyone.”

“Nonsense! Come inside to my office. We will have tea and discuss this. This is splendid.” She steps away from the open window. The discussion is clearly over. 

Jacob is startled at the decisiveness and speed of this unexpected development. He has little time to ponder it before he has to head back to class. Thanking her, he leaves the office before he runs into Duncan. 

Duncan dusts himself off as best he can before heading to the office. He hears Jacob’s footsteps fading away as he heads down the hallway. Duncan looks down at his clothes and thinks he’s as presentable as is possible under the circumstances. He knocks on Mrs. Shaw’s door and is ushered inside. He waits while Mrs. Shaw closes the door, saying, “You will be our defense teacher. The children should know how to protect themselves from strangers. They are street smart but don’t always know how to extricate themselves from danger. They will learn discipline, flexibility, and patience. Let’s discuss this marvelous new arrangement. Please have a seat.”

Duncan sits down and thinks how unexpected this situation is, analyzes the woman sitting before him. _She’s very determined and quite protective of her charges. She and Jacob have kept this place open practically by themselves._ He admired those qualities despite his misgivings of this new development. He decides to list all of the possible reasons why this won’t work, why it’s a horrible idea, unsure if anything will change the outcome at this point at all. “You need someone with more experience, more finesse in teaching. That’s not my specialty,” he replies as he starts the negotiation.

And so, four hours later, Duncan is back in the courtyard facing all of the children and staff. 

He’s frustrated with the outcome of the morning’s discussion, but not enough to refuse Mrs. Shaw outrightly. He hopes that by showing her how ridiculous her expectations are, how unrealistic, she will give up on the idea. For much of his life, he’s used to training with people who are controlled and serious. With excited children, those qualities will be entirely lacking. This is an altogether different scenario, one he’s not been in before.

Despite this, Duncan is a professional with an abundance of patience for people who put forth an effort, exhibit themselves to be self-reliant. Many of the children are here because they are resilient, survivors. He can appreciate those qualities, can understand them. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a starting point, a bit of common ground.

Everything about this is a test of his patience. Simply having the children to form orderly rows in relative silence takes fifteen minutes. His eyes scan the crowd, looking for Jacob, who is standing off to Duncan’s right. Mrs. Shaw is down at the other end to help manage the children. All he can hear is the hubbub of noise. This will never work if he doesn’t have control. 

He puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly. The noise cuts through the courtyard like a knife, silencing everything instantly. Every child faces forward, all eyes on Duncan. He thinks back to his training years ago and says, “This isn’t recess. Like any instructor, I have expectations, rules on how this class will work. I’m going to demonstrate a sequence of stretches to you. All of you will repeat them five times in a row. You need to listen to my instructions and repeat whatever I do. It’s simple.”

He turns away from the group to face forward and starts the first sequence of stretches, uncomfortably aware of the younger man in his peripheral vision. “Stand like this, feet together like this, extend your arms like this. Then move like this,” Duncan explains. “Now, you all do it, just like I did.”

He turns his head to his right and looks over his shoulder at Jacob, expecting that the simple sequence of moves will prove easy, even for the younger children. What he sees is disorder, uncertainty. He faces the children again and is struck by the sight. The younger children struggle to remember the sequence, the older ones look to each other to see each other’s form, positioning. Both Jacob and Mrs. Shaw move throughout the rows, stopping at every few students, to demonstrate, check on posture, positioning, and give encouragement.

Watching silently, Duncan realizes that having such a large, diverse age range for the class isn’t going to work. He’s going to have to scale back his expectations and adjust his methods drastically, depending on which age group he’s working with. He suspects by the rise in the noise level that the children are frustrated, anxious. He can see some of the ones in the back starting to act out and goof off. It’s like teaching drug-addled adults strung out on amphetamine or heroin. He hadn’t understood what short attention spans children have. 

He whistles again, and all eyes face toward him. He’s pleased and grateful for the display of discipline. “I’ll go through it slower this time. I want you to copy me,” he says as he starts again, facing the class this time. He makes sure to explain how he’s going to move first before demonstrating. He waits patiently for every student to mirror each step, then repeats the smaller sequence of moves five times. He can sense the increased confidence of the older children who show the younger ones how to move, point their toes as the class continues.

Watching them, he makes a mental note on which students excel and which ones take longer to perform the stretches. There are one or two who have physical impairments, which will mean extra modification to the range and reach of what they can accomplish. With each successive sequence of moves, the class begins to react more fluidly, more precisely. While the response is still a long way from where he had envisioned, he can see the possibilities. 

With both Jacob and Mrs.Shaw helping, he gets through the next half hour. By the end, he considers it a success to teach three sequences of stretches for Tai Chi and have the class repeat them. Before dismissing the children, the last thing he does is to thank everyone for attending the class, for following directions and to remind them to practice every day for a half-hour. He watches the children disperse, and he heads back to Jacob’s house so he can make a list of impressions, notes for how to restructure the class, and think about how to make improvements. 

______________________________________________

Later that evening, after dinner, the children are busy with Mrs. Shaw, something to do with arts and crafts. Jacob never takes part in these evening activities, allowing himself the rare pleasure of solitude. He returns to his room and sees a lit lantern in his kitchen as he crosses the courtyard. He is struck by how pleased he is by the realization that Duncan is waiting inside and pushes the thought away. _He may not be here in a few weeks._

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Duncan?” he asks quietly before hearing a gentle snore coming from the bed. Not wishing to wake him, he makes his habitual cup of chamomile tea and sips it in the kitchen. Afterward, while he tidies up, he is surprised at seeing a few pages of rough notes and ideas for how to change the class. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, so it’s obviously written by Duncan. He only glances at it, not wanting to intrude on Duncan’s privacy. He sets it aside carefully and gets himself ready for bed.

He hears Duncan turn over and feeling nervous about crawling into bed and disturbing him, Jacob unrolls his rush mat and grabs his pillow off of the bed. He dims the lantern and locks the door. Setting the mat on the floor and lying down, he finds himself thinking about the day, about his gruff roommate. Watching him, seeing his grace, precision, his single-minded determination at overcoming obstacles, and his patience were illuminating. His assumption that Duncan’s a gangster is grossly inaccurate. There are depths to the man underneath his stoic personality. He is struggling to accept the truth of who Duncan is versus what he sees in front of him; a man struggling to find a place for himself in the regular world. In many ways, he reminds Jacob of who he used to be before he wound up at the orphanage, before he found his purpose. 

He thinks back to their first conversation, how Duncan had mentioned a child. He’s seen the man awake from nightmares, fumbling around, obviously distressed. Jacob’s never mentioned them, not wanting to upset him further. Instinctively sensing that Duncan would lash out, he’s never attempted to wake him, opting for getting out of bed and unrolling his mat, watching over him until he settles, much like this evening. A gangster, and Jacob’s known a few of them, right in the neighborhood, wouldn’t react like Duncan does. His brain chugs through possible answers. _I don’t think you’re a mercenary. You’re too cautious, careful. More covert. Assassin?_ Somehow that feels right. He would never ask Duncan for confirmation. But he feels better for finding an answer, surprised at himself for discovering the idea of Duncan being an assassin, doesn’t trouble him. Not in the way as much as him being a gangster or thug would be. _He’s paid to get rid of people._ It actually poses far less danger to him and the children. He suppresses a chuckle at the thought. _Idle thoughts. I’m sure he won’t stay,_ he thinks as he drifts off to sleep.

___________________________

  
  


The following Monday, Duncan brings his whetstone and knives out to the bench in the courtyard. He sits in the sun as he sharpens his knives and his throwing stars. As usual, the children tumble out of the classrooms, for recess, hooting, and hollering. Many of the boys are intrigued and hang around, looking at the dangerous weapons. Whispering amongst themselves, the boys egg each other on to pick one up. Emboldened, Pramod reaches out for the kukri. 

Fortunately, Duncan sees him, his hand suddenly gripping Pramod's wrist before his fingers get too close, feeling the boy flinch in surprise. "Look. Don't touch." He drops the boy's wrist, who seems shaken by the sudden action and harsh, emotionless, demand. "Weapons are not toys to pick up."

Pramod, badly startled, jumps back, blinking back tears. 

Jacob, having seen the interaction between them both, comes over to see if Duncan needs assistance. He nods to Duncan, crouches down by the bench, and takes Pramod’s hand and says. “Hush, now-” before the child can say anything more or burst into tears. “-It was very foolish to try and do that. You could have hurt yourself or someone else badly. You’re fine, just startled. Go apologize to Mr. Duncan.” Jacob stands up and claps his hands, telling everyone to disperse. 

Pramod shuffles his feet as he walks over to Duncan, who waits silently until the boy is standing in front of him. Pramod wipes his face, smearing dirt across it as only young boys can do before quietly saying, “I’m sorry for trying to touch your knife, Mr. Duncan. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not just a knife. Every weapon has a history. It’s a kukri used by the Nepalese Gurkhas.” Mrs. Shaw walks by as he's describing the ways that the Gurkhas utilized their kukri in their culture, and paused her steps, before shooting Pramod off to play when Duncan's explanation came to an end. She had that look in her eye as if she were eyeing up the last pastry on the counter, and Duncan held his tongue, focusing on honing the blade as she stood over him.

"You've given me an idea," she said, and Duncan couldn't help but feel a little bit trapped, wondering what he would agree to next.

_______________________

Later that evening, Jacob’s boiling water and looks up as Duncan enters the house. “Would you like a cup? It would be rude of me not to offer something to our new instructor.” 

Duncan rolls his eye at Jacob’s last statement and mutters in reply, “Yes, I’ll have a cup.”

“Go sit over on the bed. I’ll bring it.” Duncan sighs, gathering pillows and propping them at the head of the bed. He takes off his shoes and unbuttons his sweat-stained shirt. He sits back as Jacob opens the windows to catch what little breezes exist. 

When the tea is ready, Jacob carries the cup and saucer over to Duncan. He tries not to stare at Duncan’s bare chest. His curiosity piqued at the many scars, remnants of a hard, dangerous life, of sharp-edged instruments as well as bullets. He tells himself it’s only that and nothing more as he notices the movement of muscles, sees the expanse of salt and pepper hair on Duncan’s chest before becoming embarrassed by his scrutiny and hiding it by burying his attention in the tea in his cup. 

When he’s recovered, Jacob sets his cup down on the bedside table and says, “I’m going to follow your example,” as he removes his shirt. 

“If I weren’t here, if you were by yourself…” Duncan doesn’t finish the thought.

“Ha! No question about it. I’d be nearly naked. As it gets closer to the monsoon season, the humidity increases. I’m already going through three shirts a day.” 

Duncan grunts in reply and sips his tea. The thought of seeing Jacob completely naked is a tantalizing one. _You don’t even know if they’ll let you stay._ Deciding to act like a gentleman, he says, “Do you wish me elsewhere? You only need to let me know.”

Jacob picks up his cup, crosses to the opposite side of the bed, and sits down. “While the boys would love it if you’d bunk in the dormitory with them, you wouldn't get any sleep. No, this is the best place for uninterrupted rest and privacy that we have here. I promised you shelter for a month. I keep my promises. It’s the least I can do.” He scoots back, resting against the pillows. “I am tired. Tell me about what you and Mrs. Shaw talked about today.”

“I’m supposed to give one self-defense class, in addition to the gymnastics or whatever you want to call it. Plus show and tell.” 

“Pramod will be over the moon with delight.”

“The blade could have taken his fingers off. Doesn’t he realize that they behead people with it? That’s what it’s designed for?”

“No, of course not. For all his street smarts, he’s a child, and you’re his hero.”

Duncan grunts and is uncomfortably aware of how sticky he feels. “This is going to sound oddly personal. It’s too dark for me to head to the river now. Will you mind if I bathe here?”

Jacob leans forward momentarily overcome, choking as he gulps his tea. Duncan takes Jacob’s teacup from him and thumps him on his back. When the coughing fit was over with, he hands Jacob back his cup, trying not to think about the sheen of sweat on Jacon’s torso.

“Thank you. It went down the wrong pipe.” Jacob waits for a moment before saying, “The light’s horrible in here, especially at night. Would you like me to do your back for you?”

It’s Duncan’s turn to be discomforted. “Thank you. I’ll get water as soon as I’m done here.” 

“Nonsense. I can do it.” Jacob stands up and takes his teacup to the kitchen. He picks up the water bucket and heads to the water pump, whistling a jaunty off-key tune.

Duncan sits up and takes his cup to the kitchen, rinsing them both out while Jacob is away. He knows he can walk out of the orphanage tonight and, in a few miles away, be economic worlds apart from all this. Never look back. Then, he imagines Jacob coming back to his tiny room and finding it empty. He pushes the thoughts aside and retrieves a small wooden stool from the corner. He’s just started to untie and set aside his eye patch when Jacob returns with the water. 

“I’ll make a start as soon as you take off these.” Jacob motions to Duncan’s linen pants. “I’ll put fresh clothing and towels just here,” he pats a clean countertop and crosses to their shared dresser to get the clothes and towels. When he turns back, Duncan is seated on the stool, dressed only in his boxer briefs, the warm water waiting just off to his left. 

Jacob picks up his softest sponge, “Are you comfortable, Duncan? Would you prefer the communal showers instead?

“No! No, this is fine, Jacob. Thank you.”

Jacob kneels behind Duncan, not wishing to startle him, says, “You’re going to feel the sponge on your skin. You tell me if the water’s too warm.” He dips the sponge in the water, wrings over the bucket, so it’s wet but not dripping. He starts up at Duncan’s neck and shoulder blades and sees the man flinch at the touch. “I’m sorry. I-” murmurs Jacob and stops as Duncan’s fingers down upon his hand.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Please continue.”

Jacob does as he’s been asked, carefully washing Duncan’s neck, shoulders and back. He’s mesmerized by the scars on Duncan’s body, each mark tantalizing. Some of them, Jacob suspects are from gunshots, are deep enough to hold a drop of water or two just for a minute until gravity takes over. Jacob watches through hooded eyes that seemed to always return to the pull and stretch of muscles, the dribbles of water that poured down from the sponge over sweat-coated skin. Magnetic and unavoidable. He shifts slightly, aware of the swell of his interest pressing uncomfortably to the inside of his trousers. He wants to be that sponge. 

Uncomfortably aware of where his thoughts are heading and his body’s reaction, he finishes washing Duncan’s back and returns the sponge to him. Jacob quickly moves the bucket of water, so it’s sitting in front of Duncan. “I’m going to give you some privacy. I’ll change the bed linens now and take the laundry over to the compound. Take your time. I’ll empty the water when I come back.” 

_____________________________

Jacob’s thoughts return again and again to Duncan over the next week. He’s still reserved and guarded. A few weeks can’t undo a lifetime of caution. Jacob can see the difference, though, when he's doing show and tell with the weapons he has, or when he's teaching self-defense. Then the quiet, and socially awkward man shifts and changes into something charismatic, focused, and utterly professional. He can see more than hints of why he was good at his job, as gruesome as it was, in the precision, poise and sheer knowledge hinted at. He would be lying if it didn't send a shiver through him at times, never sure whether it was from worry or something far closer to arousal.

Jacob sees him fitting in as part of their tight-knit community. Duncan even cleans out the outhouse twice, but he spends the rest of the day in the river getting clean. Although the vegetarian thing is proving to be a more difficult transition for the older man. Jacob teases Duncan sometimes at night, calling him “an old windbag.” 

One day, Jacob came back on his bicycle from running errands. He parks the bike and looks out of habit at his house, looking for the one-eyed man. He sees two large rose bushes and a flat of vegetables, peppers, squash, tomato, and other plants he doesn’t recognize. He finds Duncan is digging in the dirt over in a sun-filled portion of the yard. It’s a bigger job than one person can do in a day, and Jacob can see Duncan’s been at it for a while. 

Jacob understands without being told that the plants must get in the ground by the evening, or they’ll be dead. He goes into Mrs. Shaw's office and asks if he can have the older boys and girls to come out to help dig and prepare the garden. She enthusiastically agrees. With everyone’s help, the vegetable garden is dug, and all the plants safely settled in the ground. Duncan insists on planting the rose buses himself, just outside the windows to Mrs. Shaw’s office. He sets them in a stone-bordered flower bed safe from little feet. 

Later, when Jacob comes over with a bucket of water, as Duncan finishes tapping the dirt around the roses. “How did you know?” asks Jacob as he helps Duncan water the bushes.

Duncan looks up quickly, “It wasn’t difficult.”

“Did someone say something?” As soon as the question’s asked, Jacob realizes his mistake. “No, that’s not right. When did you know?”

Duncan bends down to sprinkle water around the roots, and Jacob can see the corner of his mouth twitch. “About a week ago. At breakfast, Attar of roses. She doesn’t wear it often.”

“No, I couldn’t afford a big bottle,” Jacob laughs. “It was an anonymous gift for thanking her for all the work she’s done here. She’s going to love these, Duncan. Thank you.”


	8. A Serious Conversation

That evening, Jacob can see how exhausted the older man is. He even asks for something for the pain. Jacob walks over to Mrs. Shaw, who is in charge of the medical dispensary. She scolds him for allowing Duncan to overexert himself and walks with him to the infirmary to get pain medicine and tiger balm. After finishing up with Mrs. Shaw, he heads to the communal dining room. Even from the hallway, he can hear the clamor of excited, tired children. The noise gets even louder when he enters the dining room, and all the children greet him. He loves these kids as much as they love him, but en masse, all excited, it sometimes feels a little much. 

He decides to get a tray so he can go back to the peace of his and Duncan’s room. The moment that thought crosses his mind, his and Duncan’s room, he feels a warm blush cross his cheeks. Shaking his head, he makes his dinner selection. He looks at the tray and smiles. It’s similar to Duncan’s first meal at the orphanage, lots of covered dishes, although there is a half of a roasted Tandori chicken which Mrs. Shaw sent one of the staff to buy from a shop down the road. He concentrates on carrying the heavy tray as he tries to extricate himself from the throng of shouting children. Only the promise of a football game in the morning gets him out of there relatively unscathed. 

. 

He carries the tray across the courtyard, back to his house. Duncan opens the door for him before he can even knock. Jacob greets him, saying, “Namaste,” setting the tray down in the kitchen area. 

Duncan walks over, finds the tiger balm, then he crosses back to the bed. He sits down and starts to untuck his shirt. As he raises his arms above his head to pull it off, he grunts in pain and closes his eye. 

“Will you let me help you?” asks Jacob, moving towards Duncan.

Duncan nods as Jacob raises the shirt up to his shoulder level, easing each tanned, muscular arm out of its sleeve. Jacob carefully maneuvers Duncan’s sweaty shirt off over his head, looking at his exposed expanse of skin, recalling how he bathed him before, how he responded, and flushes at the memory. 

Seemingly unaware of Jacob’s scrutiny, Duncan sits on the bed, half-naked as he opens the tiger balm container. “Jacob?” he asks. He’s half turned away from Jacob, his face in shadow. 

All Jacob could see was his left side, fingers smearing the unguent into his skin. Conscious of his staring, Jacob turns abruptly away and crosses to the kitchen to wash his hands. 

“Yes?” he says, drying his hands on a towel before he starts to efficiently debone the chicken. Duncan watches Jacob tear apart the chicken with his slender fingers and wishes he could feel them against his skin.

“What does Namaste mean? I hear it all the time. I don’t know if it’s hello or goodbye or something else.”

Jacob stops what he’s doing, turning toward the man on the bed. He explains, “It is used both for greeting and leave-taking. It means "I bow to the divine in you." We make this gesture with it.” He gives him a slight bow with his hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointing upward, his thumbs close to the chest, “Or it can be silent with just the gesture,” says Jacob.

‘Well then, Namaste,’ Duncan says and copies the gesture, bowing his head, ‘Jacob.’ 

“Thank you. Let me get something so you can clean up.” He can hear Duncan’s stomach rumbling from where he stands.

“My apologies,” Duncan says, blushing. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s my fault. I should be quicker fixing a plate. I’ll bring it over by you so you can snack on something,” Jacob replies, carrying the tray back and handing him a damp cloth.

Duncan cleans his hands as Jacob sits on the corner of the bed, quickly portioning out the food before giving Duncan his dinner. As Jacob watches Duncan eat, he’s aware of a change in the room. Jacob picks at his chicken thigh, shredding the meat into strips, but not eating much. The silence between them is uncomfortable, uneasy. It’s a sharp contrast to their usual camaraderie with each other, none of their easy, teasing banter.

Duncan rubs his hand across his mouth, wiping his lips, eye flickering away. He’s never been good at this, filling the silences. He’s aware of the disparity of their lives. Jacob has a purpose, passion, and commitment to something bigger, better than himself. Jacob’s surrounded by people that love him, a welcome and valued member of a little community. Duncan’s tried to fit in, by helping out and making himself useful, but it never seemed adequate, not in the same way that doing his job had been. He has...a set of specific deadly skills and money. That’s it. No other positives. 

For all his flaws, though, he knows that If he stays, he could be putting Jacob and those of the orphanage in danger. Moving on hasn't been any trouble for him before, decades worth of training and habit ingrained, and yet still he's found himself reluctant for it to be that day where he leaves. It’s best that he goes, he reminds himself as he has every day lately, best for Jacob’s own good, for his safety, but as the days have rolled by, he wonders if he's strong enough to leave and not come back. 

If he leaves, he has nothing to replace what he has with his relationship with Jacob. Everything seems empty, a void with no job, and no warmth of Jacob at his side. Knowing what he’s giving up and going back to the way he used to be, it feels like a slow death, and he’s more afraid of that than anything else. He doesn’t know how long he’ll last until he'd crack and come back, desperate for some of that warmth, or whether he’d take one last desperate job and get sloppy in his distraction. Sloppy is a death sentence. It almost happened already with the boy, because Jacob had begged him to get him to get the boy back, and he hadn't been able to suffer knowing the spark of brightness he'd seen in the man would be shuttered with the loss. But he's seen the reaction in others, how they lost focus, lost purpose, and he'd felt it in himself every time he tried to look to a future that had no work to dedicate himself to. To go out that way... he feels a bubble of panic in his chest.

Duncan pauses, runs a shaky hand through his hair, and only manages to say, “You have a special life here, Jacob. It’s not right for me to be a part of it. I don’t belong here.”

At Duncan’s announcement, Jacob looks up from his chicken carcass, his greasy fingers drumming out an anxious tune on the silverware, alarm constricting his chest. In the time he’s known him, Jacob’s learned that there’s so much below the surface, much that Duncan leaves unsaid. He realizes he’s been given an ultimatum. If he doesn’t say anything, or the right thing, Duncan will leave, and just walk out of his life forever. His mind shrieks at him, _This is bad. No. This is Duncan, which means this is horrifying!_

Needing something to do, to calm his thoughts and time to think up a response that isn't garbled by his rising panic, he carries his plate back over to where he does dishes. His hands are shaking, his fingers scrunch up, and he’s far too aware that his breathing has sped up, verging on far too fast. 

Reaching for the soap, and one of the glasses from earlier, his thoughts still scrambled, torn between abject denial and attempting to find constructive words to persuade. It's difficult, but he needs to find something to say, something to stop Duncan from just walking out. 

The combination of grease and soap suds on his hand, conspire against him, sending the glass slipping out of his hand. He tries to catch it with his other one, which is just as messy, and it slips, breaking on the edge of the bucket, thick shards cutting into his palm. 

“Fuck! Oh, goddammit!” 

Tears come to his eyes, and he slides down to sit on the hard-packed dirt floor as the shock takes the strength out of his legs, aware enough to keep himself away from the other shards at least as he goes down. _It’s your fault he’s planning on leaving._ Pained and distraught, he puts his forehead on his raised knee and struggles to get his breathing under control while his mind whirls. 

It's only now when things have reached such a critical point that he realizes he’s been thoughtless. He’s seen Duncan struggle to recover from physical injuries that would incapacitate anyone else. He’s seen him tested and asked to adapt to circumstances that are well outside of any of his previous experiences. Duncan’s done it with grace through them all. Rescuing Pramod, adjusting to a roommate, living in near poverty conditions, teaching children, to say nothing of the countless thoughtful tasks he’s performed without anyone asking. Duncan’s succeeded, and the sudden and fully realized shame that he hasn’t praised Duncan, hasn’t made him realize how important he is, or told him how much he cares, is overwhelming. 

He so desperately doesn't want him to leave.

It’s not until he feels the sting of sanitizer and tries to pull his hand away, that he comes to the present, drawn out of his scattered, chaotic, thoughts to realize that Duncan is crouched down in front of him, carefully tending to the injury that Jacob had managed to inflict on himself, once more tending to the mess that Jacob's life has been struggling to cope with alone.

“You can’t say such things, Duncan," he says, his voice pitched slightly too high, too raw to appear even nearly normal, but he has to say something, he has to make this right somehow. He can't lose him now, not after they just found each other. "We want you here. The children would be heartbroken if you were to leave. You don’t realize how important you are here. Please... " His throat constricts, and he finds he can’t utter anything else, his mouth completely dry. 

Duncan watches him, taking in the words, taking in the way the man had just broken down at the first hint of him leaving. Duncan wonders if the words spoken aloud also apply to Jacob. Unsure of a way to move forward, unable to surmount this impasse he finds himself in, he decides to divert the conversation. “You never told me, was the trip to Denmark successful for you? Did you get what you went for? In getting funding?” he asks as he applies a bandage to Jacob’s cut.

Jacob sighs, “No, I failed miserably. Oh, I made it to the to be one of the three finalists one of the top presentations, but someone else bagged the foundation money.” His face falls, and he rubs the bridge of his nose with his uninjured hand. He owes it to Duncan to stay and answer his questions, no matter how difficult. Jacob stands, and with shaking hands, moves to pick up the broken pieces of glass. 

Duncan stops him, and Jacob moves away from the glass, unable to watch. He starts to pace, his hands gripping himself, holding himself together. 

He starts talking as he walks, “We are going to be in big trouble when the monsoons come, Duncan. I won’t lie to you. Only Mrs. Shaw knows. I don’t know whom to ask for help, what corners to cut. I stopped paying my salary long, long ago. I decimated our emergency fund to fly on a round-trip airplane ticket, and for what?”

Jacob continues, “I let everyone down. I even considered selling myself out for part-time work, but that didn’t resolve anything either. There are so many people looking for work, and I have too many responsibilities here to be gone full-time. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“You need to tell someone, Jacob. Tell me about your plans for this place. Why do you say things will be bad if the monsoon hits? Isn’t the roof done?” Duncan’s finished cleaning up the glass and the kitchen. He washes his hands carefully, not looking at Jacob at all. 

Jacob replies,‘No, I didn’t have the money to finish it all. I just did the best I could. It’s a cheap job, and I don’t know how well it will hold up.” 

“We need better sanitation, Duncan. We have no running water for the compound, there are no pipes for sewerage. The city has offered to run both systems to communities that don’t have them, but everyone on the street has to chip in, to pay the costs of connecting to the sanitation and water system.” He finds he has been pacing again and stops to look over at Duncan, who hasn't moved. He's never had anyone before who’ll listen like that to him. _He’s so patient and never misses a thing._

“You’ve never been here during a monsoon. How far down do you think I can dig with a shovel? How fast can I bail out? Do you realize the latrine will overflow? Like it always has, every year. Do you know what comes after that, Duncan? Cholera, dengue, chikungunya, and malaria, to say nothing of gastrointestinal sickness. With the rains come mosquitoes. With mosquitoes, come disease. Did you know we have to watch out for an increase in snakes during the monsoon if it’s really bad? They go after rats, frogs, or looking for dry land. Everything looks for dry land.” 

Jacob covers his eyes and gives a high frantic bark of a laugh that sends shudders down Duncan’s arms. He hadn’t realized what a strain the younger man is under, the kind of pressures he’s endured for the sake of these children, the constant worry he’s under.

Jacob continues, “We spend so much money on fresh water, and it’s worse during the monsoon because it’s easier for everything to become contaminated. In the best of times, we are stretched thin, too little water among so many people for proper hygiene, cleaning, and cooking. Our courtyard becomes mud. My house,” he laughs as he gestures around the small space he calls home, “--becomes practically unliveable. “

“Our generators flicker and die because water gets in the engines, or the gas is contaminated. Or we can’t afford to run them as much as we need to. We need a safe walled-in courtyard area where the children can play. Better food, clothing, books. More staff. Mrs. Shaw is wonderful, but she’s overworked like everyone else here. I know that the kids are falling behind academically too, but we only have so many resources, and I have to prioritize keeping them alive and safe. When the monsoon hits, I don't even know if that will be possible.” 

The enormity of what he’s said out loud hits him, and he starts crying now, completely overwhelmed. Duncan crosses over to him and puts his arm around the hiccuping man, urging toward the bed, to lie down.“You’ll get a headache if this keeps up. Lie back, please. Put your arm over your eyes. I’ll be right back.” 

He crosses to the kitchen, grabs a small clean cotton towel, a bottle of water, and some ibuprofen before heading back to Jacob. “Can you sit up, just a little? I’ve got pills.” 

Jacob pushes himself up on an elbow. “Thanks. I’ll take some, please,” he says as he holds out his hand. Duncan watches as Jacob swallows the pills, chasing them with a gulp of water. Jacob wets the towel with water and pats the back of his neck and face with the damp cloth. “I don’t even know what to say, except to apologize for getting upset. And thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome. Nothing to apologize for.”

Jacob blushes and asks, “Duncan, are you still hungry? I am. I hardly ate anything. Will you sit next to me, please?” He moves over to make room as Duncan takes the pills, cloth, and glass, exchanging them for the dinner tray.

They both eat in silence, tired from the things they did and didn’t say to each other. “Will you be able to sleep, Jacob?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I could help.”

Jacob is surprised by Duncan’s answer. “I’d like that.”

“Why don’t you get ready for bed while I take care of cleaning up?”

Jacob can’t help it. He chuckles, “What are you going to do? Tuck me in?”

Duncan doesn’t answer, but his eyes are warm. He wants to take Jacob’s mind off his troubles, even if it’s just for one evening. Rather than brushing off his question as playful banter, Duncan decides he’s going to call Jacob’s bluff.

Both of them busy themselves with their respective tasks. When he’s finished, Duncan turns and sees Jacob lying on the bed, still clad in his pants. Duncan strips down to his boxer briefs, and he hears a sharp intake of breath from Jacob in response. He climbs on the bed, purposely invading Jacob’s personal space, boxing him in. He watches Jacob shiver. 

Duncan moved closer and whispered in Jacob’s ear, “You want me to tuck you in? “ his mustache tickling, and listened to Jacob squeak as he brushed his ear. “I’d like that very much, Jacob. Will you let me?”

Jacob can’t believe what he’s hearing. He thinks about Duncan’s hands on him and feels his face go warm. He looks in Duncan’s eye and nods.

Duncan bends down, nipping at Jacob’s earlobe. “I need to hear your voice, Jacob,” he commands as he pulls back to look at the younger man. 

“Please,” whispers Jacob.

Duncan waits. And waits. 

“Yes, I’ll let you, Duncan. I’d like you to touch me, ” said Jacob earnestly. For a minute, he’s quiet, thoughtful. Then, he looks up at Duncan, arches his neck, and deliberately pokes the tiniest tip of his tongue between his lips, barely visible, and watches the man above him swallow. 

“Do you see something you like?” Jacob smiles teasingly, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Many things.” 

With that answer, something tipped, shifted in the dynamic between the two of them. For Jacob, it feels like he could stretch, luxuriate, after being confined in a barred cage, the kind which had only allowed him to crouch in one position until his muscles burned, ached, and went numb. 

“Duncan?”

He hears a hum in response to his question. 

“Please, will you tell me your last name?”

Duncan rolls to his side, facing Jacob. He thinks about the evening, how Jacob bared himself. How he trusted him. It was a small thing. Two syllables. It was everything. Trust after a lifetime of caution. He looks in Jacob’s face, his eyes, and makes his decision.

“Vizla.”

Jacob sighs. A tiny, intimate sound, a huff of breath as if he had just breached Duncan for the first time during sex. 

“I could kiss you, Duncan Vizla.”

“Is that a promise then, Jacob Pederson ?”

Jacob regards Duncan and reaches out, watches his fingers, twitching, hesitant, touching his chest, his fingers spreading open gently, brushing through the thicket of salt and pepper chest hair. Duncan hums as Jacob traces a leisurely path from his chest to his neck and upwards, before his face is cradled by Jacob’s work-calloused fingers and a gentle kiss is placed upon his lips. 

“I think if the kiss is anything to go by, it’s a rather subdued response,” Duncan whispers. 

“You’re still recovering. I don’t think you could cope with a kiss commensurate to the way I’m feeling right now.”

“And how might that be then?”

Jacob bites his bottom lip, blushes, shyly quiet. “I can’t give you what you need unless you say something,” murmurs Duncan.

Jacob replies, “I want to be closer.” Jacob looks for acceptance and sees the corner of Duncan’s lip twitch upward. Before he can talk himself out of it, Jacob moves, so he’s on top, straddling Duncan’s hips. Jacob grinds down tentatively, and his mouth opens in a silent moan, momentarily overcome. He lowers himself down, plastering himself against Duncan and starts to rock. The thoughts in his head stop. There’s only sensation, Duncan’s scent, his sweat, tiny chaste kisses against Jacob’s skin. “Please,” whispers Jacob. So many things within that word that he can’t say. _Please touch me now; Please kiss me and hold me; Please do something because if you don’t touch me, I don’t know what I’ll do._

He feels Duncan’s warm hands on his hips, his fingers twitching, urging him a bit higher. Duncan shifts underneath him, nudging against his balls, coaxing Jacob to move again. Jacob needs to feel more, needs skin on skin. 

“Shall I take this off?” asks Duncan, plucking at Jacob’s pants.

Jacob looks up at Duncan, his eyes hooded, mouth half-open, and groans “Please, yes! Oh, god, yes,”

Duncan clasps Jacob’s hips and immediately rolls him over, so he’s back on top. He sits back on Jacob’s thighs and, with his thumb, traces the pronounced line of Jacob’s erection visible beneath his pants.

Jacob gasps at his touch and reaches for Duncan. “Wait. Let me-” murmurs Duncan as he pulls the drawstrings free. As they come loose, Jacob lifts up his hips, watching Duncan’s fingers as he peels off his pants and his boxers in one smooth motion. 

Jacob’s cock twitches as he looks up at Duncan, who gives him a predatory look. Jacob’s enthralled at what he sees, taking his time to openly admire the man above him. He watches as Duncan strokes the long muscles in his thighs, teasing him. Jacob doesn’t focus on his hardening cock. He’s too enamored watching the muscles move beneath Duncan’s skin, and Jacob shivers at the raw power evident there.

Duncan bends down, his body completely blanketing Jacob. He slips one hand under the back of Jacob’s head while his tongue begs entrance into Jacob’s mouth. Jacob slides his hands down Duncan’s back, tracing his muscles, following his spine. As Jacob opens his mouth to allow an insistent tongue inside, Duncan exhales a soft sigh, and his grip on Jacob’s hair tightens. Jacob moves his hands lower, over the curve of Duncan’s ass, and in response, he feels Duncan rut against him. Jacob pulls him closer, his cock throbbing in response as he feels proof of Duncan’s arousal pressing against his belly. He thrusts up, and Duncan rocks against him.

Jacob moans, “Duncan! You feel amazing!” Jacob’s voice is low, rough, like gravel, and it surprises him to hear it pitched like that. Any further conversation is silenced by Duncan’s kiss, slow, languid, sloppy with spit, and Jacob loves it. Panting into Duncan’s mouth, Jacob groans and grunts as he rubs against Duncan with a single-minded intensity. He feels good and warm all over, whining with pent-up longing. His arousal seems like it goes on forever, spiraling through his veins to pool in his gut.

  
  


Their lips clash together again, hungry and desperate. Duncan pulls back to spit on his palm. He slips his wet hand between them and rubs firmly over the solid swell of Jacob’s cock, over and over, until Jacob grasps his shoulders and cries out. His hips jerk up, while he gazes at Duncan's face and hangs on to him as if he’s his anchor. The only sound in the room is their harsh breathing and the noise of the bed creaking. His cock feels raw, but Jacob doesn’t want anything to stop. He shudders, constantly on edge and aching to come. Their kisses turn hungry, full of sharp teeth, nipping and in Duncan’s case, drawing blood. 

He ruts up against Duncan, harder and faster until he is overcome with a rush of blind ecstasy. His mouth goes slack as the skin between them gets slick. He’s barely conscious of Duncan reaching around to hold him as he shakes through the aftershocks. 

Duncan presses a kiss against Jacob’s speeding pulse, waits for Jacob to come down from his orgasm. Jacob’s eyes flutter open, and he gives Duncan a wide smile before he realizes something. 

His face goes red, and he asks, “I, ugh, did you?” mumbles Jacob.

“No. It’s fine. Are you tired out now?” Duncan is rewarded with a loopy grin in response. “I’ll take a rain-check then.”

“Sss’s good. Thank you, Duncan,” slurs Jacob as he slides into sleep. Duncan huffs in bemusement as he gently rolls off the younger man, tucking him under the covers as he promised. He cleans himself off before succumbing to sleep himself.


	9. Morning Ablutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kishafisha has posted lovely art for this chapter! Please go immerse yourself! It’s amazing!

By the end of the month, both of them recovered from their injuries, Duncan a little slower than Jacob. Both of them have a morning routine established now. Duncan lays in bed, watching Jacob get up, fetch his metal washing basin, small linen cloth, and head to the pump just a few doors down the street. Duncan watches his graceful walk back inside with his water, careful not to spill any. He positions himself the same way, back toward Duncan, face toward the window near the cooking area. Jacob keeps a tiny brass cup, which was probably used for coffee or tea at one time to rinse himself. Duncan loves the way the water runs off his skin, in rivulets between his vertebrae, over his muscles. He loves the music it makes, tinkling in drops from the brass cup and dropping silently to the dirt below, darkening it upon contact and causing tiny puffs to explode from the floor. Sometimes, Jacob hums or sings a snatch of a song. Sometimes he is silent.

As Duncan watches, Jacob stands up and unties his linen sleeping pants, which were so loose on his hips; they barely needed any coaxing to fall down. He steps out of them and bends at his waist, takes his time washing the rest of him. 

By this point, Duncan is usually hard. He never touches himself. Only watches. 

But this particular morning, he must have made some noise, an exhale, a grunt of appreciation. Maybe a rustle of the bedcovers. Jacob pauses, seemingly becoming far more acutely aware of the man behind him, watching him strip naked and wash himself intimately. The kiss between them and what came after remains fresh in Duncan’s mind, but he doesn't know whether this is pushing the situation further than Jacob wishes. "Don't stop," Duncan offers, aware as he says it that his voice is lower, huskier than he had intended. Jacob is still; thinking, perhaps debating, and Duncan doesn't know what he will decide. He has never pushed his growing affection upon the man; that is not his place.

Slowly, Jacob starts to move once more. His spine bowing as he reaches down, and Duncan's gaze is drawn to the way those legs are spread just a little more than they had in the past, just enough to seem inciting rather than ambivalent to his usually silent watcher. Water trails down his back and Duncan's mouth is dry for want of it.

Duncan watches the water run down over all the knobs in Jacob’s spine before it disappears into his cleft. He stands up and silently pads over to the crouched man, taking the piece of linen from unresisting fingers, and letting it trail down his back. His own body crouched over him, feeling the heat so close to his skin, but not touching except for the cloth. 

Duncan watches the muscles flinch as the younger man feels Duncan’s breath on his neck and upper back. Duncan smells Jacob’s sweat, musk, and the scent of the soap. Nothing else exists for them in this moment, except each other. It’s a comforting thought. 

When Duncan finishes, one hand slips around Jacob’s front, under his underarms, clasping his pectoral muscles, while the other touches his left hip bone. He stands up, bringing Jacob upright with him. He pulls Jacob backward and suddenly presses himself against him from his neck to his toes. Jacob gives a small cry and turns his head to the right, searching for Duncan’s mouth.

Duncan turns him carefully to face him before claimimg his mouth gently, nipping at his lower lip, as one hand strokes across Jacob’s nipple and the other cups his sex. “I’ll claim my rain-check now, Jacob.”

Jacob would have fallen to the floor, knees giving out at the kiss, overwhelmed and stunned at the suddenness of it all. Duncan was there, silent and supportive. Jacob turns his body slightly, intending to turn in further toward the older man when he’s scooped up, a hand under his ass, scooped up into Duncan’s arms. Jacob slips his arms around Duncan’s neck and gives a soft cry before sucking a bruise into Duncan’s throat. He clings and whimpers as he’s carried back to bed, where he’s gently laid down. 

“I can’t, Duncan. Not now. I have a whole list of things to do today. Can you wait until tonight?”

“It’ll be incredibly difficult waiting. But if you promise this evening and weekend, possibly even Monday, to me, I’ll agree.”

“Yes, I promise,” says Jacob as he kisses Duncan in between each word.

“What’s so urgent today then that takes you out of our bed?”

“I have to go to the clinic today and have more errands to do afterward.” Duncan continues to look at him, a slight narrowing of his eyes, the only thing that shows his concern. “I get the results today of my blood tests and my follow-up Xrays on my ribs and ankle. See how I’m healing up. Nothing to be worried about.” 

“What blood test? “

“To prove I’m clean. I know they gave you all sorts of tests when you were at the clinic when you got shot.” 

“For everything, yes. You have nothing to worry about. So you’ve been thinking about that?” Duncan nuzzles against Jacob’s neck and nips at his earlobe, listening to him yelp in surprise.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Duncan asks and watches Jacob shake his head no. “You need to take more time for yourself. You work too hard. You aren’t upset that I’m asking you to take the whole weekend off and possibly even Monday?”

”There’s so much to do-” Jacob’s answer is cut off by Duncan placing his index finger against his lips. 

“You need some rest, a short break, Jacob. But first, let’s have a lazy morning so I can collect those kisses from you.” 

Jacob nods in agreement. 

They cuddle together, hands roaming everywhere except where they both ache for touch. “How long did you know I watched you in the mornings, Jacob?”

“Once you started to recover, get your strength back.”

“You tease.” 

Duncan rolls on his side, his arms around Jacob. He tucks his legs up behind him and kisses his neck, feeling Jacob quiver as his mustache tickles him. They doze, legs tangled under the light linen sheet until Jacob hears the noise of rough-housing boys, the catcalls, and shrieks. 

“Come on. We have to rescue Mrs. Shaw,” coaxes Jacob, watching Duncan dress and making sure his blind side is neat and tidy as the rest of him. 

They head to the main building where, once inside, they join the children and the rest of the staff for breakfast. Jacob idly thinks about doing these kinds of things every day, comfortable domesticity. It seems easier to visualize a future like that now. What is surprising to him, what he didn’t expect are the emotions he’s feeling lately. He’s good at compartmentalizing, not letting people in. He’s cut himself off from so much for so long, afraid of committing past mistakes. He used to worry about lovers asking him to give up the little solace and happiness he found in this place or waited for them to get frustrated and leave him behind. Watching Duncan adapt, seeing how things have changed in the past month, he feels ready to let go of his old habits, start fresh. Like the rest of the staff, he sits down to lentil dosas (thin crepes made of lentils) with different dips and chutneys from the night before while the children have porridge. Jacob looks over at Duncan, who tucks into his favorite dish, ginger-crusted spiced potatoes with yogurt raita on the side. Looking around at this little community, seeing Duncan seated among them, Jacob feels proud, not for himself, but for Duncan. He had been with them for weeks, adapting to his new disability, while discovering that he’s able to help provide safety and security to the children and to be accepted for all of it.

Jacob glances over to Mrs. Shaw. He knows that he’s got to have a conversation with her today about their increasingly perilous financial situation. Thinking about finances, his mind automatically drifts to what Duncan said earlier about taking time off this evening and coming weekend. He knows arranging it will mean an extra errand for him today, and he’ll have to leave immediately in order to fit everything in. He stands up and nods to Mrs. Shaw before leaving the dining room to head out on his bicycle. 

Duncan watches Jacob leave abruptly and is puzzled by his urgency. _Perhaps I shouldn’t have kept him in bed for so long this morning._ He’s grateful that he doesn’t have classes today. As if reading his thoughts, Mrs. Shaw stands and walks over to the shelf on the wall, which holds a brass hand bell. She checks her watch, waits a moment, and rings the bell, which sends the children and staff to their classrooms. Duncan also leaves, heading to the courtyard. He has a long day ahead, mindful of what Jacob said about the monsoon, he’s drawn up plans to build a canopy to shelter the new plants as best he can from the coming rains. He’s also made arrangements for next week's delivery of several rain barrels, mulch for all the new plants, and several loads of stones for soil protection. He’s going to anchor the rose bushes as well, though they are under the roof overhang and so they should be partially protected from the worst of the weather. 

Jacob arrives back at the orphanage in the heat late afternoon. He’s surprised to see a canopy over the vegetable bed protecting them from the birds and the worst of the sun. It’s evident that Duncan’s spent all day on it. As he crosses the courtyard, he sees Duncan carrying a towel and soap, heading to the river to bathe. Jacob wishes he could join him, but he goes to speak with Mrs. Shaw. As usual, he finds her in her office.

“Namaste. How are things?” asks Jacob, nodding his head in the direction of a pile of paperwork.

“Namaste, Jacob. Things could be better, but you know that as well as I. Are you alright? How did your meetings go?” 

He assures her his physician looked over the new x rays taken this morning and explains his ribs and ankle are healing well. He summarizes his initial meeting with a representative from a local business syndicate inquiring about getting involved with an angel investor network in Mumbai or to investigate the possibility of obtaining crowdfunding for some of their most needed projects. Mrs. Shaw makes detailed notes about the business meeting in her ledger. Lastly, Jacob mentions the recent changes to the vegetable garden and how remarkable Duncan is. 

“He loves you, you know,” observes Mrs. Shaw.

Jacob looks up, a bit taken aback, and cheeks blushing. He didn’t think it was so obvious. He stammers, and Mrs. Shaw takes pity on him, placing a hand on his arm. “Every acquaintance, every friend, every person who has a place in your heart, it is the time with them that really means something. Nothing else matters. Does he know how important he has become here? Does he realize how much the children adore him?”

“I...uhm...plan on asking him this evening to stay permanently with us.”

“Are you in love with him, Jacob?”

He blushes and answers, “Yes.” He waits a moment, biting his lip before asking, “Would you do something for me, please, Mrs. Shaw? Would you take the children and staff out to a movie at the cinema tonight? Duncan and I will stay here. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you tomorrow. Duncan thinks I have been working too hard. I tell him that the children come first but-”

She pats his arm, “Jacob, you must take care of yourself first, so you are available to take care of the children. When was the last time you took a day off that wasn’t work-related?” She opens her handwritten ledger and checks the accounts. “We don’t have enough money to take everyone to the cinema. I’m sorry, Jacob. I’ll see what I can do to keep them busy.”

Jacob pulls out his wallet and counts out a handful of bills. He hands them to Mrs. Shaw, who scolds him, “Where did this come from? Did you sell your plasma to get this? You know what I think about the cleanliness of those places.” 

“Yes, I did. I also sold some of my things at the market. Got a good price for them.”

Mrs. Shaw takes the money with shaking hands. “Are you sure, Jacob?”

He nods and says, “Do not say a word about this, please.” 

“I will take the staff and children out tonight for a movie and some kulfi afterward. You and Duncan take as long a break as you need this weekend. In fact, I want to see as little of either of you as possible until Tuesday at the earliest.”

Jacob thanks her and blushes again as he leaves the office.

_They will be good for each other,_ thinks Mrs. Shaw, smiling. 


	10. A Bow To The Divine

Entering their room, Jacob closes the door, his gaze moving to where Duncan is standing in the middle of the room, brushing his still-damp hair. His chest is bare, and Jacob can’t help but notice tendrils of water trickling down into his salt and pepper chest hair. The man has taken up Jacob's habit of wearing thin linen drawstring pants in the heat, and even doing something as simple, Jacob doesn't think he has ever seen someone looking more regal. 

“We’ll be alone tonight. Everyone’s going out for a movie and ice cream afterward. Mrs. Shaw said she doesn’t want to see us until Tuesday, if not longer,” he says shyly. 

“Come here. I want to dance with you properly. The way I would have at the wedding if circumstances hadn’t dictated otherwise.” Seeing Jacob’s nervousness, Duncan crosses the room, placing the brush down and taking Jacob’s hand while putting the other around his waist. “We don’t have to do anything else, Jacob. Having you in my arms like this is enough for me.”

“It’s not enough for me, though,” murmurs Jacob.

“That can be remedied. Ready? What dance step shall we do? I’ll start us off. ”

“I...I don’t know,” whispers Jacob. His cheeks are pink, and his color is high. Duncan places the back of his hand on Jacob’s forehead, testing for a fever. “Are you overheated? The temperature was intense today. You look exhausted. Put your head on my shoulder and let me lead.”

Jacob nods and does as he’s bid. He closes his eyes and nuzzles against the older man’s neck. He feels Duncan muttering to himself, counting down the time, “One, two, three,...Here we go.” 

Jacob laughs as Duncan starts the dance movement,  _ A fucking Viennese waltz. I’m dancing to a Viennese waltz with an assassin that I’m in love with, on a dirt floor in India.  _ “Secretly, you’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you, Duncan Vizla?” he asks as they twirl and move in a circle. 

Duncan grunts, saying, “Hush, I’m counting.” Jacob peals with laughter as Duncan leads him into a fleckerl and then into a reverse turn. They manage to go around twice until Jacob finds Duncan’s pulse point in his neck and starts to tease him. Between the heat of the day and the heat between them, both of them are breathing hard after the first dance.

“Will you let me touch you?” says Duncan, his voice husky and low.

Jacob nods, unable to suppress a shiver. He feels like this is a dream, that if he speaks, it will disappear. “Touch me the way you did this morning,” he whispers.

Duncan steps behind Jacob and presses himself against Jacob’s back. He slides one hand across Jacob’s pectorals and carefully covers his bulge with the other before grinding against him. “I want to do this in bed. Both of us naked, you on top of me. Would you like that, Jacob?”

The only thing that Jacob can manage to say is “uh-huh.” 

“That’s not really an answer. Do you want to try again? What else would you like?” Duncan asks before his hand moves from Jacob’s chest to his shoulder. He pulls him backward slowly, carefully arching his back and increasing the force of his thrusts. 

Jacob shudders and moans “I’ve been thinking of your hands on me all day. We can do anything, everything.“ He eases away from Duncan and turns to face him. He’s tempted to touch Duncan’s face, his chiseled cheekbones, his plush lips. He is afraid if he did, he won’t be able to stop. He settles for nipping at Duncan’s jawline instead. 

Duncan has other ideas, however. He pulls him close, and any further talk is impossible as Duncan captures Jacob’s mouth in a passionate kiss. As their tongues slide together, Duncan slides his hand around Jacob, gently cradling the back of his head. Jacob stutters out a broken groan, his mouth shifting to capture Duncan’s plush lower lip as Jacob sucks on it greedily.

Duncan breaks the kiss and says, “I want you too, Jacob. Let me show you how much.” 

Jacob watches, transfixed by what Duncan does next. He lifts, cradling Jacob’s hand and rubs his thumb over Jacob’s wrist and palm. Such a simple, innocent thing. Jacob watches Duncan’s thumb swipe over the vein in his wrist and is unprepared for what he feels. The featherlight touches should feel innocent but have an intensity to them that overwhelms him. His skin feels tingly, his fingers twitch. Another swipe of Duncan’s fingers sliding along his skin, causing them to bring goosebumps to the surface. It’s maddening, too much and not enough, all at once. Duncan’s thumb slides over the slight dip in the middle of his palm, and Jacob gasps aloud, suddenly embarrassed at the noise he’s making.

Duncan strokes him over and over and watches Jacob shiver. He bends down and kisses Jacob’s wrist, his lips moving to Jacob’s palm before he takes his index and middle fingers and licks them teasingly. The erotic display sends Jacob’s pulse racing, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“ You want something else, though?” teases Duncan. 

Jacob whimpers. Greedy for more, he presses closer. “Please, oh god. Please. I want.” Jacob stops, embarrassed that he’s stammering. He takes a deep breath and exhales before continuing, “Talk to me. You always speak to me as if your mouth is tasting the words you say. I love to hear your voice.” He’s not sure where he wants to touch, his indecisive hands fluttering, grasping at air. He clutches Duncan by his hip bones, and the touch grounds him. He stills. 

Duncan stops stroking his wrist and reaches up to Jacob’s face. He cups his cheek and rubs his thumb across Jacob’s philtrum, above his lip. He traces his upper lip watching Jacob attempt to capture his thumb in his mouth while Duncan pulls it away. “So many things I want to do to you, with you.” 

Jacob’s breath hitches, and he unintentionally lets out a whine, clutching at Duncan. His legs feel unsteady, and his brain is whirling, thinking of erotic possibilities. “I have a book if you run out of ideas.”

A ghost of a grin, “Really? You’ve hidden it well.”

Jacob nods, “Well away from children’s curiosity.”

“I want you to show me all your favorite erotic poses from it. And I’ll hold you in my arms while you do. You can explain everything to me in detail tomorrow. Sound good?” teases Duncan. "Is there anything else you've hidden from me?"

Jacob flushes and replies, "No. Too difficult to keep sanitary. And private."

Duncan nods and leans in for another kiss, his soft hair tickling Jacob’s lips as he kisses him tentatively at first. Jacob shudders and sighs in his arms when Duncan tastes him. He gets a growl in return, “Bed. Now.” Jacob’s heart beats faster at the command.

Jacob leads, holding Duncan’s hand, unwilling to let go even for a moment. Jacob pulls Duncan down on the bed and begins untying his linen pants. 

Jacob laughs as he encounters a knot, “Did you think this would stop my assault on your manhood?”

“I didn’t want to frighten any of the children or shock Mrs.Shaw by losing my drawers if they happened to intrude while I was waiting for you.”

Jacob giggles at the thought, loosening and pulling the knot free as he speaks, “You chivalrous man. You drive me wild.” He pulls the strings free, and the loose fabric gapes open. Jacob slips his index finger in the opening and pulls the material away from Duncan’s body. He glances down, a slightly shaky laugh emitting before he tries to cover it up with a whistle of appreciation. "Larger than me, and not even completely hard yet. Wow.”

Seeming to sense his nervousness, Duncan reaches down and pulls the fabric closed, “Come up here.” Jacob lets himself be coaxed, moving up the bed, to be closer to those tantalizing lips. “I don’t want you thinking about anything tonight.” Duncan strokes Jacob’s hair, tucking it behind his ear as he pulls him close. “You’re like a skittish colt. How long has it been? Since you’ve invited anyone into your bed, hmm?”

Jacob blushes and allows himself to be manhandled closer. He shivers. 

Duncan immediately shushes him and wraps his arms around him, tucking him alongside him and throwing a leg over, trapping him in one spot. Duncan kisses him on his cheekbone, deciding he needs to distract him.

“Jacob, if I had a better voice, I’d sing this song for you. I won’t subject you to that, though.” Duncan’s voice is low, rough, and gravelly. His calloused fingers stroking Jacob’s arm as he self-consciously recites, “Give me more than one caress. Satisfy this hungriness. You touch me. You kiss me. With your kiss, my life begins. Don't you know you're life itself? Like a leaf clings to the tree, Oh my darling, cling to me. For we're like creatures of the wind.”

“Duncan Vizla, you consistently surprise me. Who sings that? Bowie?”

“Ah, no. I’m old enough that for me, it was always Nina, Nina Simone.”

Deciding to answer his question, Jacob explains, “it’s been a lifetime, Duncan. I won’t lie. Nearly twenty-one years now. I’ve always been too busy keeping this place solvent or fixing problems. There were a few women who may have been interested, but having little to no privacy or being responsible to dozens and dozens of little ones tends to dampen desire to say nothing of relationships. ” Duncan closes his eye and holds Jacob tighter, burying his face in his hair, kissing the top of his head. 

“I suspected something like that. There’s nothing that we do in this bed that’s wrong, Jacob. You’re in charge tonight. You say ‘stop,’ everything stops. What would you like, hmm?” He pulls back and looks at him.

“I want you.” Jacob leans in and captures Duncan’s bottom lip, sucking at it hungrily, feeling the hairs of his mustache tickling him. Duncan opens his lips, and Jacob slips his tongue inside, moaning when their tongues slide over each other. 

The kiss breaks and Duncan whispers, “You have me. How about if you ride me then?” chuckles Duncan. “And my hands can roam everywhere.”

“What about you? Is there any place that’s particularly sensitive or painful? Other than this?” Jacob runs his hand up the left side of Duncan’s abdomen to his mid-rib line and gently rubs his thumb over the skin. “I see how you move Duncan; see how you lift. I know it pains you when the weather changes.”

“There’s a steel plate in me.”

“Will it hurt if we have sex?”

“No.” Jacob senses that there’s something else. He’s just about to ask when Duncan runs a hand over his face before speaking. 

“There are some things I’m not able to do easily, but as long as you don’t dig in with your fingers-” he maps out a section on his skin,”-from here to here, it should be okay. No one’s asked before, Jacob. But then, I mostly paid for sex.” He pauses again and continues. 

“I don’t know how to say this other than bluntly. I have a hard rule, Jacob. Don’t hit me or bite, break the skin, not unless I ask. Reflexes are hard to overcome. Previously, my sexual partners were all younger women, not much of a threat. I chose them that way for a reason. You’re the first person I’ve let get close who might have a chance at doing serious bodily harm to me. You understand the seriousness of what I’m asking?”

Jacob blanches and whispers, “yes, I do understand.”

“I just needed you to know before things got out of hand. If there’s something you want to try, you’ve only to ask,” replies Duncan. 

He continues, “I’ve had a lifetime of safe sex. I want to feel you, taste you, Jacob. Will you let me kiss you where I watch the water drip down and run off your body every morning?”

Jacob can’t stop the whine that erupts from him at that sentence. 

“Let me undress you first,” murmurs Duncan.

Jacob closes his eyes tightly and shudders as Duncan’s nimble fingers unbutton Jacob’s shirt buttons. He thinks he can sense the heavy weight of Duncan’s cock, feel his heat, the weight of him. He bites off a groan at the thought and trembles when Duncan touches his cheekbone and rubs his thumb across it. 

“Ah, ah. Let me see you. Open those gorgeous eyes.”

Jacob opens them to find Duncan leaning over him, asking him, “are you trying to entice me? There’s no need.”

Jacob shakes his head from side to side, whispers “no.”

Duncan waits.

“It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“I’ll go slower.”

“I might come.” This said so quietly that Duncan leans in further. 

“Then, we explore your refractory period. And mine.”

With all of his shirt buttons undone, Duncan leans back. He coaxes Jacob up onto his bent elbows as he eases the shirt off his shoulders with his thumbs, cupping the back of each shoulder as he pushes it off. As he moves forward, he whispers, “you’re perfect, “ kissing along his clavicle to the exposed joint and moving to the opposite side to repeat. 

Jacob eases his arms out of his shirt sleeves and wraps them around Duncan’s shoulders, raising himself off the bed so Duncan can take the discarded shirt and drop it on the floor. Duncan caresses Jacob from his shoulders down to his waist, in long sweeping arcs, murmuring how beautiful he is, how much he enjoys watching him, how good it feels to touch his skin. His mouth follows each caress, his tongue, lips, and occasionally his teeth, tracing each corded muscle, each jut of bone.

Jacob basks in Duncan’s adoration, his breath hitching at what he’s hearing. He can’t keep still. The brush of Duncan’s whiskers is maddening, erotic against his heated skin. He wriggles and sighs, opening his legs instinctively, before he realizes how erect he is. Embarrassed, he slams his legs shut and blushes. 

“That’s not allowed. I want to see everything, every inch of you,” purrs Duncan, right in Jacob’s ear. His hand pushes Jacob back onto the bed, holding him in place with one hand on his chest. The other is busy fumbling with Jacob’s drawstring, loosening it and pulling it open. 

Jacob looks down the length of Duncan’s body, seeing his noticeable bulge. Feeling suddenly shy, he throws his arm over his eyes. All he can think about is Duncan’s plush lips and that half-glimpsed cock. He feels the movement of air against his skin. It’s tantalizing and too much all at the same time. He aches between his thighs, almost unbearably so. He feels bolder now and wants to watch Duncan, so he uncovers his eyes and grips the sheets to ground himself. He feels Duncan’s fingers on his hips, coaxing them upward. Jacob shifts up, and Duncan swiftly undresses him, watching Jacob’s thickening cock bob free, swaying gently. 

All Jacob hears is the pulse of his heartbeat loud in his ears. He feels a gentle caress over the inside of his thighs, moving upward toward his balls. Duncan teases the root of Jacob’s erection with the pad of his thumb. Jacob arches and utters the most decadent groan of Duncan’s name, stretching it until the sound of it breaks off in his mouth. 

Moving quickly, Duncan slips his hands in between Jacob’s thighs and carefully eases him open, humming his approval. Jacob twitches as if to pull his thighs together and Duncan tuts, luxuriating in the intimate view before him. 

“You’re beautiful, Jacob.” Duncan leans forward, opening Jacob’s legs wider and plants a kiss to the inside of each thigh. He hears a startled cry from Jacob as his lips touch skin and feels the muscles jump. All he can smell is Jacob. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more, much more. 

Duncan grins and says, “On your stomach. I’ll kiss you, and when I’m done, you can ride me. Sounds good?”

“You don’t know how much it does,” says Jacob as he rolls onto his stomach. Duncan crouches over him, straddling him on either side of his hip bones. 

He starts up at Jacob’s neck, kissing him from ear to ear and spending time at every knob of his vertebrae. He follows them downward, remembering the rivulets of water running down his back and disappearing between his ass cheeks or trickling down his thighs. His tongue, lips, and teeth map each pathway, and he listens to the noises Jacob makes as he travels lower and lower. 

He reaches Jacob’s perfect ass, the one he had been admiring every morning for weeks and gently strokes with both hands over the smooth, tanned skin. 

Jacob whines as those hands grip his muscles and squeeze slightly. Duncan settles himself between his legs and begins caressing Jacob’s thighs.

So slowly at first, all Jacob feels is warmth and wetness. Duncan begins to lick Jacob, kissing at his rim, where Jacob feels the slightly bristly hairs of Duncan’s mustache brush against his sensitive skin. 

“Oh, fuck!” Jacob whines. Duncan continues to lick and slightly suck at his pink opening. “Oh, god!” 

Jacob is squirming now, his own arousal painfully trapped underneath him. His body feels so sensitive to everything Duncan is doing. Every nerve is on fire, he feels every soft swipe of tongue, every bristle of hair as it scratches his skin. He begins to sweat, all those places where Duncan kissed him before, feel hot and burning. He squeezes the pillow with his hands and buries his head. He needs to stay focused, or he’ll come just from this.

Every time Jacob whines particularly loudly, Duncan squeezes his thigh harshly to ground him. Jacob’s never been edged before. He’s never had the luxury of time. Most of his life, the sex has been quick and furtive. This, however, is something completely different. Duncan’s savoring him, making Jacob lose his mind. After a particularly harsh squeeze of his thigh, which results in a loud drawn-out moan from Jacob, Duncan pushes the tip of his tongue inside his furled hole. Jacob arches his back and pushes into the touch, while his cries spiral higher in pitch. Duncan presses a hand on his ass, pushing him back down. He holds his tongue in place for a moment before continuing to move further inside.

Jacob is writhing and crying now. He’s not sure he has ever felt this much pleasure before. “Oh fuck, Duncan!”

Duncan’s doing something with that expert tongue of his that’s driving Jacob mad. He twists and licks while he grasps the globes of Jacob’s perfect ass, stretching him wide and opening him up. It’s intense. All Jacob can do is grab the sheets and wail. 

He reaches a hand back blindly, “Please, please, please,” his fingers wriggling, clutching at air. Duncan lets go of his ass, entwining his fingers in Jacob’s outstretched hand. He watches Jacob writhe and gasp for breath. 

“I’ve got you. I’m right here,” says Duncan, gently squeezing Jacob’s hand, de-escalating what threatened to turn into overstimulation. “Breathe. Deep breaths for me. That’s perfect. More. Relax.” 

Jacob comes back from the edge and lets out a shaky sigh. 

Duncan murmurs, “Ready to go again? I’ve got to take my time and get you opened up for me. This isn’t a race. It’s a marathon.”

Jacob looks over his shoulder at Duncan, a wide smile on his face, fangs showing, his hazel eyes, black with lust. He licks his lips. “Thirsty,” he rasps. His face is pale and shiny with sweat, but he’s shivering. 

Alarm bells go off in Duncan’s head at the sight. “I can fix that. Lie back down. Don’t move. Just deep breaths,” commands Duncan. He reaches for the decorative bed cover and pulls it over Jacob, before rising from their bed and crossing the room to open the door. 

Mrs. Shaw has left a large pitcher and several containers for them, along with a note.  _ The children and I will be back late. I expect everything to be eaten and drunk.  _ Duncan brings everything inside, putting the food in the coolest part of the kitchen area. He pours a glass of juice and carries it over to a dozing Jacob.

“Drink.”

“We don’t deserve her.”

“That we don’t.” Duncan agrees, watching Jacob sip at the juice. He nearly drops the glass from his shaking hands as he tries to hand it back to Duncan. Asking deceptively casually, “When did you last eat, Jacob?”

“This morning.”

“Lie back.” Duncan takes the glass and gets up, placing it near the pitcher. In the fading light, he finds the matches and candles. He lights several, setting them around the room, before rummaging among the containers, shaking one and hearing it rattle. He fills the glass again with juice, carrying it and the container back to bed. He crawls in bed, settling against the pillows piled at the headboard. He coaxes Jacob to sit up and move backward, so he’s sitting between Duncan’s legs and leaning back against his chest, his head relaxing on his right shoulder. 

Duncan opens the container and picks out a small handful of Jacob’s favorite, spicy chickpeas. “Open,” he commands.

“I can feed myself, you know,” laughs Jacob.

“Well, you didn’t do it today. You’re shaky, pale, and clammy. I think you’ve overdone it, not eating or drinking enough in this heat. I suspect your blood sugar is low and you’re crashing. You’re going to have a snack and more juice before we do anything.”

Chastised, Jacob opens his mouth, and Duncan feeds him a few chickpeas. He waits until Jacob finishes before slipping his fingers inside his mouth and feeding him a few more pieces. Jacob sucks on his fingers, licking the salt and spices off. Duncan’s relieved to see some color come back to Jacob’s cheeks as he continues to eat. He gives him his hand to lick clean before reaching over to retrieve the glass of juice and admonishing Jacob when he tries to gulp it. 

When the glass is emptied. Jacob sets it on the small table and kisses Duncan. Jacob tastes of mango and mint. Duncan licks into his mouth, exploring everywhere with his tongue as Jacob grunts in response. They reluctantly break the kiss. Jacob nuzzles in against Duncan as they lay there, quiet and comfortable until the shaking recedes, and his interest rises once more.

"Feeling better?" Duncan murmurs into his hair, and he lets out a soft sigh, feeling more secure than he perhaps ought to, in the protective curve of that arm.

“Yes. Thank you. It was perceptive of you. I couldn’t put two sentences together.” Jacob looks at Duncan and goes pale. “Oh, fuck me sideways,” he whispers.

Duncan waits. 

“You found the tray outside?” Duncan nods. “She heard me. Oh, my god. She heard me making the most obscene sounds, moaning like a bitch in heat.” he said as he blushes furiously.

“Unfortunate choice of metaphor. I’m sure she didn't stay too long. And do you know what that means?”

Jacob looks nonplussed.

“You can now get very loud.” 

Jacob can’t help it. He chuckles, which turns into a laugh.

Duncan pulls him close, runs his hands through Jacob’s hair, and asks, “Ready for round two?” Jacob nods, his eyes twinkling. “Do you have oil?” asks Duncan.

Jacob reaches into a drawer and pulls out a stoppered bottle. “Almond.” 

Duncan nods and sets it aside for later. Jacob wriggles down the bed and impulsively grasps his asscheeks, stretching himself and humming a snatch of song. Duncan eases his hands away and starts to kiss and gently bite Jacob’s skin, moving inexorably inward.

By the time he reaches his entrance, Jacob’s pliant and spread out. Duncan starts again to tease him, seeming to be able to get so much further in than Jacob thought possible. Jacob luxuriates in the sensations, calling out, “Duncan! Don’t stop. Don’t-” before groaning. Duncan continues to follow Jacob’s commands, to lick and suck, reveling in the pleasure he’s giving the good-hearted man underneath him. Saliva drips down to Jacob’s balls; he’s entirely dripping wet. Duncan tests for any resistance by sliding the tip of his finger, along with his tongue inside Jacob as he spears him while he squeezes Jacob’s thigh with his other hand. 

Jacob grunts and whimpers as Duncan presses inside him. The mixing of pleasure and slight pain make Jacob feel more aroused than he has ever been. Later he would reminisce over Duncan's skill, a skill that seemed to him like magic, but such thoughts were swept away currently by the flitting of that tongue over his needy hole. Especially when Duncan presses further in with both his tongue and finger, curving his finger up inside. “Fuck!” Jacob gasps and shudders.

Duncan can feel his own arousal now, hard and leaking between his legs. He tries not to think about what it’s going to feel like being inside Jacob because dwelling on that thought might send him over the edge. He wants them both to last. He removes the hand on Jacob’s thigh to briefly gather some of his precome, coating the tip of his finger with it as it drips onto the bed. He wants to taste himself mingled with Jacob. He spreads it over his sensitive rim, lapping it up as a cat does with cream.

As he does, he moans into Jacob, who feels the vibrations like a wave through his body. Jacob thrashes his head from side to side into the pillows, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Duncan presses a second finger inside Jacob as he returns his now slightly damp hand to Jacob’s thigh, squeezing it once more. 

Jacob feels two fingers inside him, as well as the soft torturous swipes of Duncan's tongue, driving him mad, making him unsure how much more of this he can take.“Please! Oh god! Please, Duncan!”

“Do you know how you tease me, Jacob? Do you know what it does to me to see you shiver?” he curves both fingers up to press inside his heat, stroking his prostate. Jacob whines loudly as he feels his entire body ripple with a piercing pleasure. “How? Again! Fuck!” 

“Gonna make you sing so prettily for me,” growls Duncan. He’s never been one to say no to Jacob. He does as requested and presses again a little harder as he licks and sucks around Jacob’s entrance.

Jacob moans as his cock throbs beneath him, the tip of it leaves patches of precum wherever it touches. Duncan feels how Jacob shivers and shakes, so he gently removes his fingers and mouth. Jacob whimpers at the loss. “It’s okay. I just don’t want you to come yet. Turn over.”

It takes a few moments for Jacob’s brain to understand the words. With Duncan’s help, he does as asked. Duncan smiles when he sees Jacob’s cock hard and leaking. He eases Jacob’s foreskin back and gently with a loose fist, strokes Jacob’s leaking cock. “Oh, oh!” Jacob moans at the touch, his legs falling open. Duncan adds his fingers inside once more, before leaning down and taking in the tip of Jacob’s cock inside his mouth. 

Jacob thrusts up into the warm cavern of Duncan’s mouth, unable to control the waves of glorious pleasure crashing through his body. Duncan sucks him and slides his lips up and down the shaft a few times before releasing him, watching his cock bob freely. He presses his fingers against Jacob’s prostate. This time Duncan gets to witness the expression on Jacob’s face, watch as his eyes roll back in his head as he grips the sheets and shouts out Duncan’s name. He’s pleasantly surprised at how loud Jacob is during sex, now that he doesn’t have the pillow to muffle him. Duncan is happy that the children aren’t here. He makes a mental note to ensure they have good soundproofing when they re-build. He twitches, responding to all the loud moans and whimpers from Jacob. He could listen to them all night.  _ The sweetest symphony. _

__ “Duncan! F...fill me.”

Duncan smiles and leans forward to kiss Jacob as he gently rolls his balls in his hand, making him whimper. Jacob bites along Duncan’s jawline. 

“Do you want to come before? Or after?” Duncan asks. His voice is so soft, yet commanding: it stirs things deep in Jacob’s abdomen. “I can do either,” Duncan says, and Jacob believes he can. He believes that Duncan could keep him from coming for as long as he wishes. The thought lights a fire inside of him and is something they definitely have to explore. Jacob pants, sweat glistening on his body, as he feels Duncan’s fingers brushing through his hair. 

Duncan smiles, “You can’t even speak, can you?”

Jacob shakes his head. All he’s concentrating on doing is not coming. His head is swirling: it’s so difficult to think, to talk.

Duncan says, “Together then. Eventually.” with a glint in his eye at the thought, before devouring him in a kiss.

Jacob moans then because he knows that Duncan is going to torture him in the best possible way. 

“Do you want me to use the oil? Or I can kiss and suck you some more?” Duncan asks. Jacob already feels very wet, and if he is honest, he quite likes the idea of a little bit of pain. Duncan says, “You want it to hurt a bit. So you can feel me in the morning?”

“Please!” Jacob moans.

“Anything for you,” Duncan says and strokes a hand down the side of Jacob’s face. “Sit up, so we can swap positions, I want to be able to see you.”

Jacob smiles, and they manage to maneuver themselves in the small bed, so Duncan is lying on his back. Jacob straddles him, his knees situated at Duncan’s widest point. Duncan slips his hands between Jacob’s thighs and eases him into a wider stance. He hears him hiss. “Just want to see you take me. Can you hold yourself out of the way? Yeah, like that,” Duncan hums appreciatively. 

He holds Jacob in place, hands on his thighs, barely piercing him with his dripping cockhead. He watches him bite his lips and mewl. Duncan commands, “All you have to do is take every inch of me nice and slow. Let me feel you. When I’m balls deep in you, I’ll take my hands away, and you can wriggle however you want and ride me.” 

Jacob whines again as he does as asked. He is very open and wet from Duncan’s ministrations, but Duncan isn’t small. Duncan watches Jacob wince, crying loudly as he takes in the tip of Duncan’s cock. Duncan moves his hands from between Jacob’s inner thighs to his hips, gently stroking him with his thumbs. “Yes! That’s it! God, you feel so good,” encourages Duncan. 

“Jacob!” Duncan groans as Jacob feels so tight and wonderfully hot around his cock. Nothing has ever felt this good. He looks up at Jacob above him, so beautiful. His skin is luminous with sweat. His lust-blown eyes are staring down at Duncan, his defined stomach, those long legs against him. He looks like a god, and it makes Duncan want this moment to never end. Jacob’s eyes flutter closed as he gives a full-body shudder. Duncan caresses him, his hands moving everywhere.

Jacob pants “ah, ah, ah,” as he slowly lowers himself enjoying the burn and pain. It grounds him and allows him to truly feel every inch of Duncan inside him.

“Fuck! So big!” Jacob says breathlessly. He is almost fully seated now. He pauses to puff and whimper before he eagerly wriggles his way down the huge cock inside of him. Jacob pauses with Duncan inside him, both panting for a moment to get used to the sensation. Jacob clenches and listens as Duncan curses extravagantly. An idea pops into Jacob’s head. Jacob presses a hand against Duncan’s chest. “Stay still. I want to do something first.” Duncan grins, intrigued at this new development. 

Jacob raises his hands above his head, his wrists rotating in circles as he hums a tune. His hips twitch from side to side and then follow his hand movements. Mesmerized, Duncan watches as Jacob’s stomach wriggles and undulates. Jacob feels Duncan’s cock inside him, feels his muscles clenching at it as he moves his hips and abdomen. The eroticism of the dance, the sensual feeling for both of them is enticing, intoxicating. Both of them luxuriate in the slow build of pleasure again.

  
  


“You have hidden talents, Jacob.” Duncan is completely hard now watching the graceful dance on top of him. Jacob grins and winks at him. “You’ve teased me enough,” growled Duncan as he reaches out and gently places his hands on either side of Jacob’s thighs, stroking his skin with his thumbs. The impromptu dance slows and stutters to a stop as he’s caressed. 

Jacob floods with sensations as Duncan teases his cock. Grunts from the man underneath him abruptly break him out of his reverie as Duncan’s fingers dig into his skin. He moves his hands to Duncan’s shoulders and leans down so they can share a soft kiss. Duncan’s hands slide around to Jacob’s ass, stroking him where they join. Jacob startles, grasps Duncan’s shoulders tighter as he moans, his voice dropping low, ragged. Duncan listens to the music Jacob makes while he grabs both globes in his hands, rubbing and lightly slapping them.“Go as fast or as slow as you want,” Duncan says, and Jacob mewls as he sits back up. He grinds down slowly at first just to get used to being filled, luxuriating in the feeling. 

Duncan can see Jacob’s cock, hard and leaking as he moves his hips, and it makes him ache with need. Jacob moves again this time faster, more confident. Duncan watches this glorious man above him ride him with loud moans and whimpers. Jacob moves his hands, so they are on Duncan’s chest, feeling that soft chest hair beneath his fingers. 

“Deeper!” cries Jacob as he bites his bottom lip and begins to thrust down harder. They both gasp at how good it feels.

“Yes! So good. Fuck!” Jacob is getting louder and louder as he loses himself to the rhythm. The small room is filled with slapping sounds, grunts, and loud exclamations. Now that Jacob has allowed himself to let go and feel pleasure, there’s no stopping him as he moves with abandon. 

Duncan’s in awe at the sight of him, watching his heavy cock bounce in time with his movements. He reaches up and scratches a hand down Jacob’s firm chest. "Close?" Duncan asks, watching Jacob shake his head no. Duncan wants to tease, to draw out the show a little longer. He finds a nipple and squeezes, twisting it slightly, which makes Jacob howl with pleasure. It is such a beautiful sound that Duncan does it again. His noises, the way Jacob clenches around him, he throbs deep inside in response.

Jacob pleads “Harder,” while Duncan moans at a particularly hard thrust. One of Jacob’s hands moves to Duncan’s hair, pulling it slightly, which makes Duncan growl and thrust up to meet Jacob, who mewls in response. Jacob tugs at Duncan’s hair again, and in retaliation, Duncan tweaks a nipple. 

Wanting to tease the man underneath him, Jacob pushes himself up, almost pulling himself off of Duncan’s cock, keeping only his swollen tip inside him. He holds himself in place, listening to Duncan, curse and groan, each of them enjoying the build-up, the anticipation. “You like teasing me, is that it?” grunts Duncan.

Jacob nods and watches as Duncan comes apart beneath him.“So good, so deep,” pants Jacob as he slides down. Hands grip him brutally at his hips where he’ll have bruises tomorrow for sure, be aching and sore. He’s never wanted anything more at this moment. 

Jacob’s thigh muscles twitch, and his rhythm is stuttering a bit, more frantic. Jacob fucks himself a few more times before Duncan moves a hand to cover Jacob’s cock. Teasingly, Duncan slides his fist up and down it, moving his thumb over the slit. “Fuck!” Jacob moans. “Oh god, please, Duncan. I need-” Words fail him as his body is deliciously assaulted. 

“Are you close?”

“Uh, huh!” cries Jacob.

“Can you wait a little bit for me? Hmm? Do that for me?” asks Duncan as he looks at Jacob, who can only nod his head frantically in agreement. Duncan gently squeezes the shaft of Jacob’s penis between his thumb and forefinger as Jacob whines. He is so close Duncan can feel every flinch and leak of precum hot against his hand. His own cock is throbbing inside Jacob, and he knows that he has moments before he cannot hold on any longer. Duncan strokes him and concentrates on the wonderful sight allowing his body to feel every thrust and slide.

Jacob pushes back on Duncan’s cock with abandon, causing Duncan to grunt and grip his hips, fingers digging in deep as he pulls Jacob close while his cock spurts, coming deep inside him. Duncan releases his grip on his hip bones and fists Jacob’s cock with one hand as he rubs his palm over the swollen, purple head with the other. Jacob screams his name as he orgasms, his muscles clench, his toes curl, and his vision whites out as he grinds himself against Duncan’s pubic bone.

Jacob slumps, shuddering, struggling to stay upright balanced on his arms while Duncan coaxes him down, his arms encircling him. Jacob eases down until he collapses on top of Duncan, out of breath and exhausted. Duncan pets and kisses Jacob softly, as his softening cock slides out from him, both of them groaning. Jacob sniffles, his whole body electric with sensation.

“Are you crying? Did I hurt you that much?” asks a concerned Duncan.

“I asked you for the ache. I’m just so happy.” Jacob explains and nuzzles closer. “Duncan?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’re a good man. I want you to stay. Here, with me. Not just for the children. For me. I love you, Duncan Vizla.”

“We’d need a bigger bed. Hold me?” It’s not something Duncan’s asked for. The emotional intimacy. He can’t bring himself to say those three words, not yet, but he knows Jacob understands. They have all the time they need. He’s found something precious he was missing here in this unexpected place. 

“Never letting you go,” says Jacob wrapping his arms around him carefully and tucking his legs behind him. He strokes every inch that he can reach of the man in his bed, not for anything sexual. Both of them are too exhausted for that, just wanting to feel his skin, and the rise and fall of his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat. What he’s found with Duncan, it feels like the most precious gift. “Namaste, Duncan.” 

Duncan lifts Jacob’s hand from his chest, palm upward, and kisses it passionately, “Namaste, Jacob,” he replies in a hoarse voice. “Always.” 


	11. Epilogue

Standing in the small room, Duncan finishes washing the sweat from his body, the water almost evaporating completely in the air before it had time to do much good, but it was refreshing after doing the lessons earlier, Mrs. Shaw having taken over for now. It’s been two weeks since they shared those intimacies for the first time, and he’s allowed himself to be drawn back into the man's arms, and his life for however long Jacob wanted him. Perhaps he had never stood much of a chance against Jacob's will, and he selfishly clung to the affection and need in the younger man, knowing himself too dangerously committed to leave now without being given an order. Perhaps not even then entirely.

The sound of a car door brought him out of his thoughts all too sharply. Few drove cars around here, not ones that moved as silently as this one had. Moments later, he had one of his guns and a knife in hand and edged a look around the doorway, able to see a view of the entrance to the courtyard, enough to see the Tesla and the man that had been in it.

A soft breath left him, tension seeping out of his muscles as he stepped back, leaving the door ajar to pick up the voices, but not going out, setting the gun back where it had been before. The knife too. Neither would be needed here, nor his presence, but much like the news the man brought, he reminded himself that his presence here was still needed. Jacob rarely went a day without pressing that view upon him, reminding him that he was wanted, that he had a purpose and a life here that didn't involve killing people anymore.

Not killing people to solve problems wasn't his forte, but he'd not been idle these last two weeks either. Either through bribes or more direct means, the orphanage was safer now from those who also frequented the streets. Jacob would never find out if he had any say in the matter, just like he would never find out who had sent Mr. De Vries in his Tesla today.

He was just pulling on a clean shirt, having lingered long enough to give them privacy, when Jacob all but tumbled into the room.

"Duncan! We're saved! A foundation has given us an endowment!"

He caught the man as Jacob all but flung himself into his arms, hugging him hard enough that his ribs ached and the metal in his chest dug deep, but he didn't let him go. As Jacob laughed and cried against his shoulder, he held him, Jacob's relief stark enough that even he could pick it out.

"I'm glad," he offered, and he was glad. So very glad that he was able to do this for the man he loved, so glad to be able to save what meant so much to Jacob and those under his care. He might never be the sort of man that should end up with someone as bright and giving as Jacob Pederson, but he could do this for him. He could give the money and clear the street of threats to them, and if Jacob chose to come to his arms, today, tomorrow, or until they passed, he would never turn him away. The ache of his affection was deep and dangerous, and he knew himself lost in this strange life. But he had Jacob, and that was more than he'd ever had before.

When Jacob kisses him, it's filled with desperate joy, and he holds him, knowing he is home.

=========

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art of “Namaste” by Hannibalsimago and purplesocrates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818749) by [kishafisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishafisha/pseuds/kishafisha)




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